Timeline
by pamlin
Summary: This is very much an AU story; when I discovered Voyage back in my childhood, I didn't know that there even was such a thing as canon, but I created my own version. I do realize that this is NOT the way they met Pem. I hope you will still be able to enjoy the story. And just as a disclaimer, I have nothing to do with the show, nor do I own any rights. Just having fun!
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't get the anger under control; it was much too soon, but he couldn't hold himself back anymore… He knew what they were all thinking. He knew what they were all saying. They were calling him a loser; they were whispering about him all the time… He understood what it meant when the room fell silent as he entered it. And who had caused the talk? Who had spread the rumors? Crane was responsible for everything, and Crane was going to pay. Killing was too good for him…

Steven Nash wiped the sweat from his forehead. Too good… Yes, killing was too good, but it was the only option he had. He moved forward, stealthily… Up ahead was the boat's office. The XO would be in there, working on the day's reports. Nash had nothing against the XO… He was hard working and fair-minded, and generally sympathetic to the men. But even fair-minded Mr. Morton wouldn't stand for what was in Nash's head right now; he would call it murder, even though it was – at worst – justifiable homicide. If justifiable homicide was still even on the books. Nash didn't know… He hadn't heard that anybody had gotten off because of that in forever, but he didn't follow Court TV, so what did he know?

But it was surely justifiable homicide if a man were defending his reputation, his livelihood, everything that mattered in life. He was good at this job; hell, he was the best man on the boat at this job, and everyone knew it. He didn't know why Crane had taken this dislike to him, but he wouldn't cringe like a coward as the captain ruined his life.

Still, it was best not to alert the XO, if he could manage it. Quietly, quietly… He had to make it past the closed door without making a sound. If he were caught at this stage, when he was so close… What would he do if he couldn't finish this? What would be done to him?

Nash shuddered, thinking about that. What would be done to him? Crane would have him thrown in the brig, probably… No one would speak up for him. They were all whispering about him anyway. No telling what lies Crane had spread around the boat about him. But when he was helpless in the brig, what would these people who worshipped Crane do to him? He'd never looked farther than the shot he was prepared to fire, but if he missed…

If he missed, he wouldn't live to see Santa Barbara again. That much was sure. Someone would do for him, on Crane's command, and the captain would never spare another thought for it. He wouldn't be brought to justice either, because no one would dare go up against the admiral's golden boy… It wasn't fair…

Nash paused guiltily outside the office door; a new policy instituted after the Kelly fiasco meant that the office door was locked whenever the XO was in there alone. The officer hated it, but to Nash's mind it was a plus. If he were heard, it would take the XO a few seconds to get up, get to the door, and unlock it. Not enough time to stop him. But still… He didn't want to deal with that complication. He wanted to kill Crane, to make sure that everything went back to the way it was before Crane had ever come. But if the XO came through that door and tried to stop him, he might have to kill again… And he didn't want to do that. Nash eased carefully by the office door and stepped into the Control Room. To his left was the radio shack, tucked at the back of the control room. No one in the room had noticed him yet…

And there, at the plot table was his target. Captain Lee Crane, Mr. High and Mighty… Nash drew the gun from the pocket of his jumpsuit, still striving to control his anger. Ever since he'd learned that Crane was planning to dismiss him, that he was about to lose his berth on this boat and the exceptional pay that kept his family solvent, even with Mary undergoing treatment for cancer and his sister, Sharon, living with them since her husband had died… His financial responsibilities had tripled, but as long as he had his berth on this boat, Admiral Nelson's generous insurance plan covered Mary, and the pay allowed them to live fairly well, even with the three of them cramped together in the Nash apartment.

But all that would change when Crane had his way… It wouldn't matter that Nash was a plank-owner, either. No one would care that Crane wasn't even part of the original crew. He came on after Captain Phillips' death, and here he was, lording it over them all. What made him think he could dismiss Nash?

Oh, yes, he was fortunate that man – that Mr. Pem - had sought him out after they'd left port, and told him everything. How Crane was plotting against him; how the others would back Crane up, but the whole idea was Crane's. Of course, the rest would back him up. He was the captain. If he could do this to Nash, why couldn't he do it to others? Why couldn't he do it even to the officers? No one would speak up for Nash against Crane while Crane had the admiral's ear, not even the men who had the most reason to speak up for Nash. Hadn't he saved the COB's life? But Sharkey wouldn't go against the captain. Hadn't his exceptional radar skills impressed the XO on more than one occasion? But Mr. Morton wouldn't disobey a direct order from the captain.

They would have been infinitely better off if the admiral hadn't brought Crane on board. Yes, perhaps the XO had been a bit too young to have command of a boat like this, but it was Nelson's boat. He could have gone his own way, and no one would have challenged him. And even so, there were plenty of other COs who could have taken Seaview on… Why Crane? That first trip out, no one had even liked him…

A herald of change, obviously. As soon as Crane had come on board, everything had changed… The formerly tight crew had begun to whisper… They'd started shutting Nash out, even then, four years ago. And the officers became lax with discipline, allowing the men to talk, ignoring the whispers, even laughing at them. And now Nash was on the verge of dismissal, and he didn't even know why Crane had targeted him…

So there was only one way; that Mr. Pem had been quite clear on that. Only one way to save himself, and that was to get rid of Crane… The man had even given him the means to do it. When Crane was dead, the admiral would listen to reason. He'd see that Nash was a valuable member of the crew; he'd remember why Nash had been chosen in the first place…

Nash moved forward a step and took aim. One of the junior officers – O'Brien, it was, on the watch officer's platform, just forward of the twin periscopes – saw him and moved toward him, but it was too late now. "Captain!"

Yes, that's it, captain, look up. Time to realize that you're going to die… Nash smiled and pulled the trigger, exulting as the roar sounded through the control room. Crane stiffened, and a small bit of red blossomed on the front of his uniform. Sharkey leaped for Nash, and carried him to the deck, and Nash struggled under him, needing to know if he had succeeded. "Let me up! Damn it, is he dead? There wasn't enough blood, was there? He has to be dead!" But if there wasn't enough blood… It would be Nash himself who was dead… And who would look after Mary then, who would take care of Sharon, then? Oh, God, Crane had to be dead…


	2. Chapter 2

Chip Morton rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pounding headache. This cruise had been intended to be an easy one, to relax the crew after the last aborted mission, and Dr. Kelly's demise. Whether it was working for the crew, he couldn't say, but it hadn't really done much for him. He wasn't sleeping well… He could still hear the echo of the shot that had murdered Yeoman Wendy Allbright, and at times, he would jerk awake, sure that her blood was soaking his uniform…

The paperwork was still massive, and he was beginning to feel that it would finally bury him. Nevertheless, he wouldn't ask for another yeoman. Ms. Allbright's death still seemed like his fault in an obscure way. If he'd been able to do his job, she wouldn't have needed to be here, and Dr. Kelly couldn't have killed her… Oh, he knew that he was doing his job and doing it well. It was only the paperwork that had gotten out of hand…

But nightmares and overwork were contributing to the headaches, and eventually, the crew would again go to either Lee or the admiral, and they'd be back in the same damned boat they'd been in when Ms. Allbright had come aboard. It wouldn't matter that he didn't want a yeoman, nor would it matter that the last one had been murdered. And realistically, he knew he needed help. It just went against the grain to ask for it…

He glared at the computer screen. The duty schedule was becoming a problem. Nash – one of the best radar operators he'd ever had the pleasure of working with – was becoming increasingly… weird. He startled at everything, and literally flinched whenever Lee looked at him. His mates reported that his behavior was erratic, and sometimes downright terrifying. Malone claimed that he had overheard Nash muttering about taking care of the captain… Chip had no idea what that meant, but it couldn't be good. So, it seemed obvious that Nash needed to be relieved of duty, and sent to Sick Bay. Only problem was they were short-handed this trip, due to some unexpected illnesses and other complications… Replacing Nash at the radar station in the control room was going to be a problem, hence the difficulty of putting together a coherent duty schedule. And spending time on the duty schedule, meant he was neglecting the admiral's lab reports…

A loud bang reverberated through the bulkhead that separated the office from the radio shack and the control room. A shot… Chip leaped up from his desk immediately. A shot in the control room... What in the hell was happening? He ran for the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket. It took precious seconds to unlock the door – damn that new policy. All because of Dr. Aaron Kelly, damn him. Chip had argued hard against this, but the admiral wouldn't listen. Pushing the door open, he went through into controlled chaos. Men were pressed around the perimeter of the control room, as Nash, who should have been off watch at this time, was dragged away, struggling and shouting by Chief Sharkey and Patterson. He broke away from them briefly and grabbed Chip's sleeve. "Sir, please…"

But he didn't say anything else as the chief stepped between them, prying Nash's hand from the XO's sleeve, and shoving the crewman back… As if somehow Nash were a danger to Chip. "Get back, sailor! Pat, get him out of here before he does something else!"

"What happened here?" But the COB only sent him a sharp glance of concern and helped Patterson drag the writhing Nash away, leaving behind the gun forgotten on the deck. Chip knelt to pick it up… Recently fired… He looked around the control room, frowning at the shocked stares around him. "Get back to your stations." The men complied, except Kowalski who knelt on the floor by the plot table. The twin periscopes hid anyone else who might be forward. Chip stepped past the radio shack and barked at Lieutenant O'Brien on the watch platform. "Lieutenant. What's going on here?" The watch officer stared at him, brown eyes wide with shock, and had no answer.

Where the hell was Lee? He should have been here, or come running by now. If not, O'Brien should definitely have called for him. And someone should be giving Chip the information he kept asking for and wasn't getting. "Get the captain up here, now. And someone tell me what the hell is going on!" Chip didn't wait for the answer, didn't even really expect one, given that no one seemed capable of giving one. Instead, he made his way forward, around the periscope island, and stopped short, the gun tumbling from fingers gone numb, as he realized suddenly why no one was able to speak…

The captain was already here… Lee Crane lay on the deck, eyes wide open, staring sightlessly upward, a spot of blood marring the front of his uniform. Instinctively, Chip knelt beside him and pressed his fingers against Lee's throat… An abortive move by Kowalski drew his attention, but though he was looking at the crewman, he was still able to register the absence of a pulse beneath his fingers. The look he turned on Ski held more than a hint of shock. "Has Dr. McKenzie been called?"

Ski nodded, his gaze compassionate, but he didn't move, didn't bother to go for the first aid kit. Just knelt there, staring. "But there's nothing anyone can do, sir. He's… he's gone."

Chip glanced back down at Lee and shook the shock-induced cobwebs away. "Pull yourself together, Kowalski!" He bent over and immediately began chest compressions; a glare sent Ski scrambling for the first aid kit in the cabinet in the nose. But even as the XO administered CPR, he could feel that it was too late… Lee had gone cold, and the wound didn't ooze blood as he pressed down on the captain's chest. Still, he wouldn't give up, couldn't give up…

As Kowalski returned with the first aid kit, Will McKenzie laid a hand on Chip's shoulder, urging him aside. Chip spared him a glance, but didn't move, continuing the chest compressions, desperate to get Lee's heart beating again. He could feel Kowalski hovering, but ignored the sailor's soft voice. "Sir… There's nothing you can do, sir…"

But there was… This boat couldn't lose another captain, and he wouldn't lose another friend, damn it. He glared at Will, wondering why the doctor was just sitting there, doing nothing, flinching when the doctor's grip on his shoulder tightened. "He's gone, Chip. You need to let me take him."

"He's not." He said the words fiercely, and struggled as Kowalski pried his hands off the captain and pulled him aside. "Damn it, Ski…" He had to get back to Lee, had to do something, but Kowalski held him back. "Let me go!" He saw the nearest sailor – Malone at sonar – flinch at his tone, but Ski's arms still held him back. He twisted against them, needing to get back to Lee, needing to do something, damn it…

Will motioned the stretcher party forward, and supervised as they lifted the limp body, placed it on the stretcher, and took it away… The lack of a response from the captain, the lack of blood, the pale, lifeless hand that dropped off the side of the stretcher, all of them told the tale: Lee Crane was dead…


	3. Chapter 3

The face looked younger in death, with all the lines of stress smoothed away. The skin had lost that warm olive tone, seeming to be almost gray in death. Admiral Nelson choked back a sobbing gasp as he worked, meticulously boxing medals for the next of kin, straightening the khaki dress jacket, touching each of the ribbons, as if doing so would somehow restore Lee Crane to life… If they had been ashore, he would have insisted on dress blues and full military honors. Lee had looked nice in dress blues, nice enough to turn the heads of most women who saw him. Dress whites had brought out the best in him, a complement to his intensity, but dress blues were in season. Full dress and military honors would at least have put everyone on notice about how important Lee had been… But they were afloat, not ashore, and so the khaki dress jacket would have to do…

Why had he thought he could do this? Patterson and Kowalski had volunteered, but he had secured this task for himself as his obligation to the son that Lee had become to him. He boxed the Silver Star and set it aside, then touched the ribbon that indicated it, on the uniform. A Silver Star was something special… Only a notch or two below Nelson's own Navy Cross… But he had no idea what action had earned it. It shamed him that he hadn't kept tabs on Lee's career like he had on Chip's. But then he hadn't known Lee from the time he was a child, hadn't known what Lee was like until they'd served together briefly during the Gulf War. Then Lee had been extremely junior, only a junior lieutenant, and Captain Nelson, other than doing his FitReps and looking over his training jacket, really hadn't had much to do with him. He couldn't even really remember what Lee's job had been on the boat. Diving officer, he thought… When it had come time to choose a crew for Seaview, John had always been his first choice for captain, and Chip his first choice for XO. There hadn't been room for Lee Crane, even if he'd thought of the man at all.

He found himself staring at the neat stack of medal boxes, all carrying a medal awarded for a particular action, a particular quality. Something no one else had done, something no one else had accomplished… Something that set the wearer apart from everyone else. A Silver Star, a Navy and Marine Corps medal, Meritorious Service, Afghanistan Campaign… He knew what the medals meant, but it shamed him that he didn't know how they'd been earned. They were the symbols of a unique individual, a man whose courage defined him, much as it had defined the boat he'd led…

It seemed odd to him now that he hadn't had Lee in mind from the first. How had it been possible to overlook him? He couldn't have shut John out, and Chip had always been his golden boy, the man he was grooming for success, but how had he not known that Lee Crane existed and would be a fit for his lady? Why had it taken John's death to wake him up to the possibilities? It seemed inconceivable now, given what he knew of the man, that Lee hadn't even been on his radar back then. Instead all his machinations had been geared toward getting Chip Morton aboard his boat. John could have the pick of whatever boat he wanted; getting him to pick Seaview wasn't at all difficult. Getting the Navy brass to agree that Chip belonged on Nelson's boat had been a very different matter…

But if he'd known about Lee, would he have made a different choice? It was difficult to weigh the options. Difficult to admit, even to himself, that he valued one young man above the other. He'd known Chip for some twenty years, since the lad had been twelve years old. But Lee had become the son he would never have… If he'd had it all to do again, would he have chosen one above the other? Would he have chosen Lee, and advanced him to command after John's death?

_Unfair, Harry… You couldn't make that choice when you didn't know all the players… And you can't believe that Lee is more valuable to you now…_

John, sticking his nose in. Nelson had known John so well, that the man's voice still weighed in occasionally, serving as his conscience, guiding him around the shoals in the water, waiting to sink his boat… But in this case, John couldn't really know. In this case, it was clear that this was just Nelson himself, thinking his way through to unpleasant truths. And the truth was, he had grown closer to Lee over these years, had grown to understand what a Godsend he was to Seaview, had grown to realize that the boat would be lost without him… Why hadn't he even considered Lee all those years ago, when he'd first begun designing Seaview, with his hand-picked men in mind?

Once Lee had come aboard, Nelson had seen the caliber of the man. He'd seen firsthand how someone who was as different from John Phillips as night was from day could still hold a boat together and perform as well… perhaps even better. He had noted how easily Lee had fallen into command of this boat, how easily he had secured a deep and lasting friendship with the man he worked most closely with, how easily he had secured the loyalties of all board… How easily he had fit himself into the life of Seaview and the life of the Institute… How much he had become the son that Nelson would never have…

He had overheard that argument over Chip's tendered and denied resignation, and laughed at the agreement between them. The nickname that had become a scourge to both of the young men had been Nelson's contribution to their legend in Naval circles. Madness and Method… It fit far better than either of them would ever admit… But the admiral had no idea how Method would function without Madness, and wasn't sure he even wanted to know…

_You know, Harry. Of course, you know! Or are you saying I was as mad as Lee Crane?_

John's voice, warm with amusement, but still holding that undertone of disapproval. John had stepped in as father figure himself, almost as soon as Chip had come aboard, last of the pre-commissioning crew to report. And yes, Nelson did know that Chip could function under any CO, and function effectively and efficiently. The real question was how would he function as CO, instead of XO? And was that a place Nelson really wanted to go?

He crossed the long, pale, slim hands over Lee's still chest and laid the cover over them. Lee had never been as fastidious as Chip as far as appearance. Oh, he was always well within regulations, and his dress would never earn him a black mark, but his sunnier, looser personality showed in everything he did, and even in how he dressed. He hadn't had the rough ride that Chip Morton had had through life. He hadn't had a father who was verbally abusive, or a mother who simply didn't care… He had had the knack of turning even the most unlikely people into friends, while Chip had kept himself to himself, not averse to friendship but endlessly watchful. The contrast between them, their different approaches to life, had made them a formidable team. He couldn't really think of one without the other, and he couldn't see the future without Lee…

For despite his easy manner, Lee had been no pushover… Oh, no… Lee Crane could erupt with the violence of Vesuvius when there was need. He had no qualms arguing with the admiral, and zealously pursued the success of the boat's mission, while at the same time doing his best to insure the safety of boat and men. That meant listening to his XO, and Lee was far better at that than Nelson had ever been… He could also read Chip where Nelson had never quite learned how to see beyond the façade…

Damn it, this loss was unacceptable! What in the hell had Chip been doing that he hadn't been there, hadn't stopped it? Hadn't had his finger on the pulse of this boat as he usually did…

Nelson turned away from his handiwork, satisfied that Lee would go to his rest looking as he had in life, but angry now at what had been done to him. Time to have that conversation with Chip, and he didn't give a damn if the young man were still in Sick Bay, where Will McKenzie had forced him to go, to be treated for shock. Yes, the death had hit them both hard, but the safety of this boat's crew was Chip's responsibility, and he had failed monumentally this time.

_Unfair, Harry… You can't take your sorrow out on others. _

How he wished John would shut up sometimes. It was damned inconvenient having a dead man as a conscience, a man who had known him intimately most of his life, knew his successes and failures, and all of life's ups and downs, even to the death of a woman who might have been Mrs. Nelson had cancer not claimed her before he could. John hadn't always been right when he was alive, but dead, he was never, ever wrong, no matter how much the admiral raged against him.

_You know where he was; you know where he goes when he's off duty. You know the paperwork is crippling, but you've done nothing…_

Nelson stalked out of the captain's cabin, saluting the honor guard perfunctorily and rounding the corner toward his own cabin. He had known that not getting another yeoman immediately was a misstep. A tired officer made mistakes, and this mistake was huge. A man had died because of it… The captain had died because of it… Nelson's anger grew as he stormed into his cabin, and hammered the intercom button. "Mr. Morton, report to my cabin immediately!"

He didn't have long to wait. Within five minutes there was a knock on his door. Clearly the XO had been expecting this summons. "Come in."

Chip Morton came in, pale and somewhat less pristine than he usually was, but his mask was firmly in place. He moved to the desk and stood ramrod straight. It wasn't the custom to salute on this boat, but Nelson had the feeling that he would have, perhaps even wanted to. "I'm sorry, sir."

Of course, he would accept that this was his fault. The humble admission of guilt only whipped up the admiral's anger. "I don't believe it!" Nelson barked sharply, noting Chip's flinch with a clinical detachment he was far from feeling. "What the hell were you doing? How did Nash even make it that far?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one.

Because, as he thought almost guiltily now, Chip hadn't even been in the control room; he wasn't on watch. John was right again; knowing the XO, he had settled down to work on those damned reports that were drowning him. It was easy enough to twist the events to make all this Chip's fault. He made a convenient scapegoat, because he would take responsibility for it, whether he were to blame or not. But Nelson knew - and forced the knowledge down - that it wasn't his fault. The blame could be laid squarely only at Nash's door. The knowledge only seemed to fan the flames of the admiral's uncontrollable rage at Lee's senseless death. "He shouldn't have been armed, and he shouldn't have been able to make it all the way to the control room. And he absolutely shouldn't have been able to pull that trigger before someone stopped him!" He spun away from his XO, pacing restlessly, trying not to think about the hole left by Lee Crane… "Did you or did you not report to me at the end of your watch that all was well, that all systems were functioning? How could you fail to notice this breach of security?"

Again, Chip flinched; the admiral caught it out of the corner of his eye, and was ashamed of what that flinch revealed; he had always been careful to moderate his tone, to weigh anger with thought before speaking. He knew that Alan Morton had spoken to hurt, and he didn't want to emulate the man… Yet here he was, casting blame unjustly, and taking satisfaction from the evidence that he had struck home. He clenched his fist and slammed it against his desk, not even feeling the pain. "How did he get into the arms locker?"

"We're still investigating, sir." That face was perfectly expressionless, a clean slate. The blue eyes were turned downward, a certain sign that there was something in them that Chip didn't want the admiral to see. He wasn't easily read, something Nelson had often found frustrating. There were times when the admiral wanted desperately to provoke some sort of reaction. This was one of them… Surely the man felt something? Lee Crane had been a friend to them both. How could he stand there, eyes downcast, face emotionless, and tell Nelson that they were still investigating?

Unfair, he knew… Kowalski had had to hold the young man back from Lee's body, because he'd refused to believe there was nothing anyone could do. Will McKenzie had had to force him to Sick Bay to be treated for an emotional shock that hadn't even shown in his face. Of course he felt the loss. But Chip's reaction to any sort of extreme emotion was always to hide it neatly away, so that it didn't mar that unemotional surface… A response internalized and made automatic after years of hiding the feelings churned up by his father's harsh and unforgiving words. But that very facade often infuriated Nelson… He never knew how anything affected his XO.

"Still investigating? You're still investigating? How long is the damned investigation going to take?" The admiral turned away again to avoid seeing the flinch caused by the harsh words. "Nash is alive, why the hell don't you ask him?"

"Nash isn't talking, sir."

"Well make him talk!" Spinning around, Nelson snatched his hands behind his back before he was tempted to strike out at this infuriating young man. If Lee had lived… He closed his eyes and sank into his chair. But Lee hadn't lived and that was the problem. Lee was lying dead in his cabin, prepared for burial in the morning by the admiral's own hands… And tomorrow… Tomorrow, they would commit his body to the sea, and go on with their lives… As if that were even possible… "Damn it, just get out of here. Get out!"

He didn't even watch as Chip went away quickly and quietly. He had been too hard on the young man, and he knew it, but he barely cared anymore. It infuriated him that with Lee gone, Chip Morton, who was so dispassionate, so unemotional, so damned unreadable was now the acting captain of this boat. And he didn't know why that bothered him so much… Chip had been acting captain before, had been in command many times, in fact, and had always performed well. He exceeded expectations, actually, although expectations were generally set very high indeed. As an XO he was easily the best in the Navy, but under John Phillips' tutelage, and then under Lee's, he was showing all the signs of developing into an extraordinary commanding officer as well. There wasn't really anyone else who knew the boat as well as he did, now that Lee was…

But he cut off that thought instantly, for that was the reason why it bothered him that Chip would now be in control; when Chip was in command, Lee wasn't… Always before, Nelson had known that Lee would be back to take up his position again. But now… Now Lee would never again return to command, and that meant that Nelson had to make a decision: did he want to push a promotion for Chip, and make him Seaview's captain, or did he still think Chip too young? And if Chip were indeed still too young, then how would he find someone else who would fit into the command structure seamlessly?

A decision he didn't want to make, and wasn't even sure if he could make… Why the hell couldn't it have been anyone else but Lee? He could have lived with anyone else lying still and silent, cold and dead, but not Lee… Not his captain and friend… Not the son he'd never had… He could replace anyone else… He could never replace Lee… He buried his face in his hands, wishing there were some way to turn back time and fix this…

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Admiral."

The voice jerked his head up. Nelson stared in open-mouthed surprise at the stranger sitting across the desk from him. A small man who radiated power and satisfaction. His features were more than a little rodent-like, but he gave off a sinister aura at odds with his unassuming smile. Nelson reached for the intercom on his desk.

"Oh, you don't want to call security, Admiral. I can't help you if I'm in the brig." The man lifted his hands, spreading his fingers as if to show that he was unarmed, not a threat…

But it was the promise of help that stopped Nelson. "How the hell can you help me? Unless you can raise the dead, man, you're useless to me!" But, oh, how he wanted to believe that someone – anyone, even the devil himself – could help him bring back Lee…

That ingratiating smile broadened. "I can help you, but not by raising the dead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, a handsome antique, with more buttons than Nelson thought it should have had. "But let me introduce myself first. I am Pem." He gave Nelson an encouraging look, as if he expected the admiral to recognize the name.

Nelson snorted. "Am I supposed to know that name? Who the hell are you, Pem? And where the hell did you come from?"

Pem seemed a bit taken aback by the non-recognition, but he recovered quickly. "I came from the future, Admiral. I traveled back in time, and dropped in on this famous boat and her crew… Only to find that you were undergoing a great sorrow. The poor captain… Such a terrible tragedy…"

Traveled back in time? Nelson was willing to grasp at straws if it would save his captain, but this was too much. "Time travel isn't possible. Good God, man, can you imagine the havoc we'd wreak if we could travel willy-nilly in time? Someone would always be mucking around with the past, and changing the present! It's preposterous!" But the temptation to believe was almost overwhelming… To be able to prevent this death… God, what he wouldn't give to be able to save Lee.

Pem toyed with the pocket watch in his hand. "Oh, but it's not. There are rules, of course. Strict rules…" He assumed an air of sympathy that Nelson didn't believe for a minute. "But it's not your captain's time to go, Admiral. Someone else has already mucked around with the past, and you are suffering the consequences. We can easily go back and put it right." He looked down at the pocket watch. "And this is our avenue… Though, of course, I can't really go back with you and be seen on the boat. Oh, no… That would violate the rules, you know…" He sighed heavily.

Nelson rose, watching the man flinch a bit as if the admiral's presence was intimidating. "You can't help me. I don't know how you got here, but I guarantee you won't be leaving the same way." Personally, he'd like to flush Pem out a torpedo tube, for these ridiculous and oh-so-tempting lies, but that wouldn't solve anything. Pem could languish in the brig with Nash. His presence might even protect Nash from the one hundred and twenty-four men who would very much like to slit Nash's throat for him right now…

Pem tossed the pocket watch on Nelson's desk, and hurriedly withdrew another one from his pocket. "That watch can only take you back in time three days, Admiral. If you want to save your captain, press the left button and you will be amazed. But remember… It will only take you back three days, so don't wait too long." He pressed a button on the twin pocket watch in his hand, and suddenly was gone…

Nelson blinked in surprise and darted his gaze around the room for a moment, before he could bring himself to believe that Pem had vanished… Where? This was a submarine, not an ancient Gothic monstrosity riddled with secret passageways. There was no way into or out of the Admiral's cabin except by the door…

He strode around the room, feeling like a fool, but looking everywhere, including under the bunk and into the vent. Nothing. Pem had vanished as if he had never been. The only souvenir of his presence was the pocket watch sitting silently on Nelson's desk.

The pocket watch Pem had said could take him back in time… Three days. Three days before Nash entered the control room and shot Lee dead.

He picked up the pocket watch, seduced by that promise. Would it work? Could it work?

The watch looked nothing like other pocket watches he'd seen. The numbers on its face didn't look right, and it was a moment before he realized there were far too many of them. Instead of twelve hours, this watch seemed to show thirty-six… Exactly half of the number of hours in three days, just as twelve was exactly half the number of hours in one day…

Three days… What had he been doing three days ago? Nelson closed his eyes trying to remember back, past the tragedy of this morning to three days ago… They had been wrapping up the mission – purely research this time, into the behavior of killer whales. He had been going over the data with Chief Sharkey, their COB, who knew absolutely nothing about scientific research but was a most willing helper. Lee had called him up to the observation nose…

His heart thumped a bit faster at the memory. Lee had called him up to the nose… Quite possibly the last time he had heard Lee's voice actually addressing him, except over dinner in the officers' wardroom…

He looked down at the pocket watch again, and knew he was going to push the left button. Despite all the research that claimed time travel was impossible. Despite his own skepticism… Despite what would undoubtedly be a vigorous protest from his XO… Despite the danger that he was – contrary to what anyone might think – more than able to foresee. He was going to push that button, because even the vain hope that this thing would take him back three days… give him three days to save Lee's life… was better than no hope at all... He would take any chance. Any chance at all…

Quickly, without giving himself time to think any longer, Nelson pushed his thumb down on the left button. A jolt shook him down into his chair, and he watched fascinated as the watch's hands turned, spiraling backward through the hours…

Three days… God, what he wouldn't give for the promise of those three days…


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Morton! Report to the Admiral's cabin, on the double!"

Chip Morton glanced at Lee Crane in surprise when the announcement came over the intercom. It was rare for the admiral to want to speak to him in the privacy of his cabin. Usually, Lee was the one who received that summons. "What on earth…?" He kept his voice down, and the surprise out of his face. Order frequently depended on little things like that. But he knew Lee was as surprised as he was, in the way the skipper's hazel eyes had widened.

The captain picked up the microphone and said crisply, "Mr. Morton has the word, sir." As he set the microphone down again he added with a smile, "Better hop to it, Mr. Morton. You don't want to keep the admiral waiting."

Absolutely not; keeping the admiral waiting was the quickest way to end a career. Chip nodded to Lee and took off for the admiral's cabin at a run, trying to force down the feeling of dread that invaded the pit of his stomach. He went quickly over everything he'd done today, every order he'd given, looking for anything that might explain this summons, and could find nothing. Great… If he was going to be called on the carpet, he'd at least like to know what in the hell for…

He reached the Admiral's cabin and knocked, receiving the command to enter. Going in, he advanced to the desk where the admiral sat and stood at attention. "You wanted to see me, sir."

The admiral looked up, as if surprised to see him there, and nodded absently. "Yes, yes, of course. Sit down, Chip."

Clearly not a dressing down. Chip sank into a chair and regarded the admiral questioningly. The man looked… shell-shocked, as if he'd been through some momentous and tragic event. His skin was pale, his eyes slightly dilated as if he were looking at something Chip couldn't see. He looked… old… in a way he never had before. "Are you all right, sir?"

The admiral almost visibly pulled himself together and waved the question away. "Yes, yes, but I need to talk to you." But he didn't say anything, continuing to stare into memory, as if he couldn't shake it. Chip waited patiently, but after a few minutes had gone by in silence, he couldn't help prompting again.

"Sir?"

The admiral looked at him then; the pain in those eyes was almost unbearable. Chip rose and reached out to the man, afraid of what he was seeing. This was the man he had looked up to most of his life, the man who had taken him in hand when his father had failed to do so, the man who had pushed through his appointment to Annapolis, and eventually had offered him a position on this best of all boats. He had no idea what was wrong with the admiral, but he couldn't just stand here and do nothing. "Sir, should I call Will? What's happened?"

But the admiral shrugged him off, snapping back to his old prickly demeanor. "No! Will you sit down, Mr. Morton!" He watched irritably until Chip had settled down again in the chair, and then launched into an explanation. "You are going to have a very hard time believing this… But first things first. What day is it?"

For a moment, Chip didn't quite know how to respond. The admiral should have been very aware of what day it was. He had written in the laboratory log just this morning, and Chip had transcribed his notes for him only an hour or two ago. "It's… the third of January, sir. We're at the East Pacific Rim…"

"I know where we are!" The admiral rose and began to pace, but there was now a certain excitement underlying his tension, as if he had just proven some obscure point or successfully concluded an experiment. "The third of January… Thank God, that contraption actually worked!"

Chip rose from his chair again, beginning to be seriously concerned about the admiral's health, but as he did so, the admiral whipped around to face him. "Oh, for God's sake, quit looking at me like that. Just listen to me!" He glared at Chip, until the XO finally subsided into his chair again, disquieted but unsure what to do. The admiral was clearly unwell, but he wouldn't hesitate to pull rank if Chip tried to notify Will McKenzie, and that kind of insubordination could lead to being put on report. It had happened to others who had crossed the admiral. By and large for far better reasons, but Chip wasn't exactly sure where he himself stood with the man – an admission that was painful to make - and didn't want to make waves if there were other ways to handle the problem…

"I'm all right! Just listen!" The admiral paced away, his tension palpable. Second after second passed and he said nothing. At last, he swung around and glared at Chip, as if finding him lacking in something. "You're not much good at believing any wild tale, are you? Maybe I should have called Sharkey…"

No, that wouldn't do at all. Chief Sharkey would go along with whatever madness the admiral proposed, and if the admiral wasn't himself… "I promise to listen, sir, and I'll work on keeping an open mind." He was proud of how steady and dispassionate his voice was. None of his concern leaked into it or betrayed him by so much as a tremor.

But still the admiral shot him a shrewd glare, as if he didn't really believe what Chip was saying. "Well, I'd made up my mind anyway. Best if you know what's going on." He sank into his chair, but said nothing, continuing to regard Chip skeptically, until at last he simply grunted in exasperation. "Well, it can't be helped. Just try to understand…" He heaved a sigh and sat back, steepling his fingers. "Three days from now, Lee Crane will be shot dead by Seaman Nash in the control room."

The bald statement dropped into the silence like a bomb. Chip's mouth dropped open, and his hands clenched on the arms of his chair. What in the… How could the admiral even think something like that? It was impossible! Nash was a plank-owner, an artist at interpreting radar, and as steady as any man on the boat…

Or he had been… Lately, Nash had been different. Lately he'd been skulking around, muttering under his breath, accusing some of his peers of spying on him. Classic paranoid behavior that had Chip worried. Nothing serious. At least not yet, but he definitely bore watching.

Still, Nash surely wouldn't dream of harming the captain, and how would he get hold of a gun anyway? Only Lee, the admiral, Chief Sharkey, and the Master-at-Arms had the keys to the arsenal. Nash wouldn't have been able to open the door, much less get a gun, and make it all the way to the control room to shoot Lee… "Sir…" What could he say? The admiral's intense blue eyes were fixed on him, and Chip didn't have a clue how to even respond to this. "How… How could you know this, sir?"

"Because I was there." The admiral's voice was calm, his eyes steady. No matter how strange the tale, he clearly believed it, and that belief was making Chip more uncomfortable by the moment. He slid open a drawer, extracted a handsome antique pocket watch, and tossed it to Chip. Instinctively, Chip lifted his hands to catch it. "I used that to travel back in time to now. So that I could prevent Lee's death."

Chip looked at the pocket watch. At first, he didn't really see it, too caught up in the admiral's obvious madness to be able to focus on the watch. When he did finally understand what he was looking at, it didn't make the picture any clearer. The watch marked more hours than it should… Thirty-six to be exact. And a smaller dial held the date. At the moment, the date read January third, which was correct. There seemed to be more buttons than a normal pocket watch would have. The case was gold, probably eighteen karat… It was hard to read the exact time on a dial that registered thirty-six hours instead of the normal twelve, but he thought the time was right on the money, too. But despite its strangeness, there was nothing about this watch to suggest that the admiral's tale was true. He looked up at Admiral Nelson, searching his eyes for anything that would alleviate his fear that the man had gone mad. "Sir…" He swallowed nervously. "Maybe I should call Will, sir…"

"Damn it, man, will you just listen?" The admiral was angry now, sweeping out of his chair, and snatching the pocket watch from Chip's hands. "When have I ever lied to you, Chip?"

That was a loaded question. The admiral had indeed never lied to Chip's face, but there had been numerous times when the admiral hadn't told Chip everything he really needed to know, either. That was a hazard of the job, and Chip accepted that Admiral Nelson's confidence in him had slipped in the last few years, after Lee had come aboard as captain. He wasn't really sure how or why, but after Captain Phillips' death, things had changed between them. The admiral wasn't as likely to tell him what was going on – forcing him to work in the dark, on more than one occasion, when it would have been far better to know so that he could do what was needed - or use his mathematical expertise, as if the captain's death had somehow negated the reasons why the admiral had chosen Chip to be XO in the first place. And he had become shorter-tempered, more likely to bark, but less likely to offer even a half-hearted well done.

All of that could be traced to grief at Captain Phillips' death. They had each reacted to that grief in different ways. Chip had thrown himself into the work, striving to be the man that Captain Phillips had seen in him. The admiral had withdrawn and allowed his irascible temper to rule him. It was harder to please him, much harder to win any sort of smile from him. Those hard blue eyes had lost their twinkling good humor. He devoted himself to his lab, and often came up with strange, almost miraculous saves, pulled from some unknown corner of his brilliant mind just in the nick of time…

But a story like this? Traveling in time to save Lee's life? Might as well tell Chip a ghost story; it would be as believable.

But the admiral wasn't really looking for belief. Just understanding. And that was something Chip could still offer, even though it felt like the admiral knew a lot more than he was telling. Besides, arguing with him now might just make the problem worse and that was something the boat absolutely didn't need. So… "Never, sir. But…"

"Yes, I know, it offends your pragmatic sensibilities," Admiral Nelson's voice twisted the words into a sneer, as if a sense of pragmatism were one of the seven deadly sins, "but just stay with me here. I'm telling you that Nash is going to go berserk and kill the skipper in just three days. I need you to investigate this and try to prevent it."

And that required an answer, whether the admiral liked it or not. Chip spread his hands apologetically, but could not keep from saying, "How do I investigate something that hasn't happened, sir? I can't just throw Nash in the brig on your say-so, not when there's no proof!"

"Then find proof! That's what you do, isn't it, Mr. Morton?" The admiral smacked his fist against his desktop, and the noise made Chip jump. "Trail Nash, see if you can catch him getting the gun! Put a guard detail on Lee… I don't have to tell you how to do your job, do I?"

Chip stiffened at the implication and rose slowly, fighting to keep his face under control. "No, sir. I know my job." Fairy tales weren't in the least bit part of that job, either.

"Good. Then go take care of it. I don't need to tell you we'll have a disaster on our hands if Nash gets to the control room and pulls that trigger." The admiral glared at Chip, as if the whole preposterous tale were his fault. "Three days. That's all we have. I'm counting on you to stop this. And not a word to anyone."

Chip nodded, swallowing his misgivings, and walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

It really was too bad… Admiral Nelson sank into his chair, staring at the pocket watch, still seriously rattled by the report he'd gotten that morning… No wait… He wouldn't get that report until three days from now… If this was time travel, it was playing havoc with his mind…

But he regretted being so hard on Chip. The man's skepticism was a good thing, actually. The crew to a man would follow the admiral down any dark path he chose to go. Lee might protest, but he had a tendency to believe in the admiral. Only Chip had the healthy skepticism that often asked inconvenient questions and pointed out irreconcilable truths. It was part of what made him so valuable an addition to the team. Though he, too, showed a tendency toward admiral-worship that was disconcerting, he never let it get in the way of his duties. Sharkey might have believed the admiral without question, but Chip was the best man to look into Nash and get to the bottom of what had happened… What would happen in three days.

And Nelson knew he held the young man to an impossible standard, expecting him to read minds, to act before he completely understood the situation, and to put right what might be irretrievably ruined. He didn't ask those things of anyone else, not even Lee… And when Chip fell short – as inevitably he sometimes would – Nelson was unpityingly harsh. He had grown into the habit after John's death. He thought now that it was a habit of resentment… Resentment that John had died saving the admiral's life, that he had died instantly, without even a chance to say one last thing to Nelson… That John had died, when others could have been better spared… It shamed him that that resentment had only grown when he had seen that John's death had hit Chip so very hard…

A surrogate father, that's what John had been. Alan Morton had never, ever been much of a father. His angry words had been downright abusive, and at least one of his children – his daughter – had never recovered from the punishing ridicule and insults. Chip had been made of stronger stuff; he had gone underground so to speak, fashioning that impenetrable façade and tidily hiding himself away behind it. Alan rarely lashed out in public, but Nelson had been a witness once or twice. It had amazed him how Chip – even at twelve years old - had retreated behind that mask, and gone… elsewhere, not exactly immune to his father's cutting insults, but seemingly unaffected by them. As a child, he'd been easier to read, but still, both his cousin, Derek Morton, and the admiral himself had seen to it that from the time they'd stepped in, Alan was basically a non-player in his son's life. Nelson liked to think that, in a way, it had saved the boy. Under Derek's watchful eye, he had grown into that remarkable mathematical intellect, and when the time had come, Nelson had used his influence to get an appointment to Annapolis, and he had watched the boy's career religiously… A remarkable career it had been, too… But it still made Nelson a little angry to think how John had been the one to step into a father's relationship with the younger man.

He had tried to put a stop to it, at first, not liking the implications for his boat… Personal relationships between the officers often led to disaster; he had seen it before, on lesser boats. He didn't want it on Seaview. If the officers were focused on protecting each other, the men suffered. And if the men knew what was going on, they often resented the closeness, though he was compelled to admit that had never been the case on his boat.

But it had always been hard to stop John when once he set off down a path. Nelson had failed to turn him off camping, he had failed to turn him away from ONI, and he failed at this, too. John, who had never been quite the same after his son's death, had simply needed a son too much. Nelson had always been afraid that would be the case, but he had underestimated how much Chip had needed a father figure… It bothered him now how badly he had underestimated that… And it didn't bear thinking about how much he had planned on being that father figure himself. Planned, but never followed through. It had seemed too hard, when the young man shut himself away behind that far-too-effective mask…

So John had stepped in… And as a result of resentment and even a little jealousy – nothing he could ever turn on John, whom he had known for more than half his life – Nelson had stepped back. Too far back, as it turned out. And now John was dead, Lee was dead…

No! Lee wasn't dead. Lee was alive, and Nelson had to prevent what would happen in three days' time. He reached for the intercom. "Captain Crane, come to my cabin, please." It shamed him how much he needed to see the younger man, to be sure that he was alive, well, driving the boat with all the ability he had always shown. He had stepped back from Chip, but Lee was the son he needed himself. Lee's was the name on the will in the safe in his office at the Institute. He had changed that will not long after Lee had accepted a permanent position as Seaview's captain. He had told no one of that change. Only he and his lawyer knew what was in that document, and how much it differed from what had been in it before John's death.

A knock on the cabin door pulled Nelson from his reverie. "Enter."

The door opened, and Lee Crane came in, sending a questioning look at the admiral. "I hope Chip's not in your black books, sir."

Naturally, that would be the first thing out of Lee's mouth. He and Chip were good friends. That hadn't always been the case, and they were so different that it sometimes surprised Nelson how close they were. Each seemed to intuit what the other was thinking. Of course, Lee would be wondering why Chip had been summoned down here first. The way that interview had ended probably hadn't shown in Chip's face, but Lee would have read it in those frosty blue eyes, and in the tension that surrounded the young man. "Not at all. I just had an assignment for him." Nelson's reassurance would fall short, he knew, but Lee wouldn't call him on it. And Chip would honor the command to say nothing. Better that Lee not know what was going to happen in three days. No… What wasn't going to happen in three days. Which meant, of course, that there was no real point in Lee knowing about it. He looked at Lee, suddenly aware that he was seeing the captain for the first time since his death…

No… He wasn't dead yet, and now, he wouldn't be. Nelson drank in his face, hating the overlay of a deathly pallor and cold, still hands that leeched the color and life from the man who stood before him very much alive. That damnable memory… If only he could banish it…

"He seemed a little… tense…. When he came back, sir." Lee pursued the subject, even though Nelson badly wanted to change it.

"It's a difficult assignment. I have complete confidence in him. Lee…" Nelson trailed into silence, unsure what to say. What did one say to a man who had died, but was still alive, and - with luck - wouldn't actually die in three days? How did he keep from staring hungrily at the living figure, remembering too clearly the lifeless body… He had lost too many friends over the years. Loss was always deeply painful; for the very private man that Nelson had perforce become over the years, it was even more painful as his friends began to slip away from him. John, younger and more vibrant, a year behind Jiggs and Nelson at the Academy, should have lived, would have lived if the bullet had found its real mark… Though in fact, he had no way of knowing that Gamma's agents weren't gunning for them both. John had thwarted Gamma's plan to start a nuclear war, and Gamma might very well have wanted revenge for that…

But though John's death had haunted him, and haunted him still, it paled next to the death of a young man he had come to think of as his son… He couldn't banish the stark memories of Lee lying there, still and cold, lifeless. Inactive forever, when he had been so very, very active, so very, very alive…

An old man should precede young men in death. It wasn't right for Lee to die in three days… Not to die in three days… This was why time travel was problematic; the time traveler couldn't keep straight what had happened, what hadn't happened, and what wasn't going to happen… Pem had suggested there were rules, but his interference indicated that those rules were loosely enforced… There should be some kind of board to oversee all this. But if there were, would Nelson have been allowed to go back at all?

"Sir… Admiral, are you all right?" A note of alarm rang in Lee's voice, pulling Nelson from his chaotic reverie. The admiral looked into those hazel eyes, and forced a smile.

"I'm fine, Lee." Chip had asked the same question, though he had kept his emotions hidden behind that mask he always wore. Nelson had snapped at him, but it was impossible to snap at Lee's very obvious concern. "Sit down, I'm fine!" He hastened to change the subject, hoping to distract those shrewd, narrowed eyes. "Lee, what can you tell me about Nash?"

Surprise bloomed in Lee's eyes. "Nash, sir?" He contemplated the question. "You probably should have asked Chip that. He's got all of the sailors' lives practically memorized…" But he thought about it, and finally answered. "I know that Chip has been concerned about him. He's our best radar man, and while radar isn't necessarily as important as sonar when we're submerged, he's definitely a good man. But Chip's told me that lately he's been… different. A little paranoid, a little off…" He shrugged. "Nothing you could put your finger on, sir. And certainly nothing that would warrant relieving the man of duty, but…"

The admiral nodded, concerned that there might actually be something wrong with Nash. He had picked the man for this crew, and up until now, Nash had been as steady as they came. Nelson hated to think that he'd been wrong, but if Nash were cracking up… "Maybe Will should look at him…"

"If we can get him to Sick Bay at all…" Lee sighed. "It's not always as easy as it sounds. But I agree that Nash needs help. I'm sure Chip would agree also." The captain rose with a smile. "I have a boat to run, sir."

The admiral waved him off, and settled down to think.


	6. Chapter 6

Chief Sharkey watched as Mr. Morton moved over to the radar station, standing right behind Nash. They were running submerged; without surfacing to ninety feet, so that the radar mast was above water, they couldn't track anything. It was true that he made it a point to check every station when he was on watch, but he'd checked radar just a little while ago. Why check it out again? The COB edged a little closer, trying to overhear what - if anything - was said, but Mr. Morton gave him a sharp glare, and he backed off. Still it was interesting…

He moved back to his station behind the helm, but he kept an eye on the proceedings. No one knew better than he did how weird Nash had been acting since he came on board. Probably Mr. Morton was trying to figure out what was wrong with the guy. But he should have asked Sharkey. The chief could tell him a thing or two, and none of it was good. Standing over Nash like that, even if he said nothing, just might set the sailor off…

"Get away from me!" Nash's voice rose, drawing the attention of the whole control room. Yup. Just like Sharkey had expected. Odd, though; Mr. Morton hardly ever put a foot wrong.

The XO calmly stepped aside as the sailor came out of his chair, but his eyes narrowed. He said nothing, but it was easy to see that he was assessing the situation, calculating what could be done. If it could be put right, he'd be the one to find the way to do it, but Sharkey still sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the skipper wasn't in the control room at the moment. Nash was so unstable that he might have jumped at Captain Crane if given the opportunity.

"You people are all the same! Standing over me, staring at me… What do you want? Are you all out to get me?" Nash glared around at the people staring at him, as his fists clenched and unclenched at his side. A dangerous signal that; showed he was about to turn violent, in Sharkey's opinion.

"Get back to your stations, men." Mr. Morton's voice was quiet and calm. The other sailors on watch turned back to their stations, but Sharkey could read the tension in their backs, and knew that everyone was surreptitiously watching Nash in case he lost it. There wasn't a man among them who wouldn't have taken Nash down if he threatened an officer, but they were especially watchful when it was the skipper or his XO. Both men had a good reputation among the men; the skipper had easy, engaging manners, but was solid as a rock in a pinch, and Mr. Morton was the calm in the eye of the storm, keeping the men going even when everything was falling apart all around them. The men would do anything for either one of them.

Mr. Morton turned his gaze back on Nash, and said in that same calm, quiet, careful voice, "No one is out to get you, sailor. I check every station in the control room when I have the watch. You know that."

It was true, as everyone listening knew. But Nash shuddered at the words, and ducked his head, muttering. "Trying to catch me out. You want to find something wrong… He wants you to find something wrong, so that he can get me…" He gritted his teeth, and looked up, his eyes blazing.

Mr. Morton stepped a little further back from Nash, not retreating, but prudently putting a bit of space between them; a good move as far as Sharkey could see. Too close, and Nash might snap… Too far, and Nash might turn on the nearest man. By keeping close enough to keep the radar man's attention focused on him, but staying far enough away that Nash couldn't immediately cause any damage, Mr. Morton had partially defused the situation.

Still, the crewman was sweating and shuddering and didn't look good at all. "I think you're not feeling well, Nash." The XO didn't follow the thought through to completion, because it was clear Nash didn't take it well.

"The captain put you up to this, didn't he? No one's going to back me against him." Nash shouted the words and leaped forward, but Mr. Morton was faster, stepping quickly out of reach. Nash crashed against the periscope railing and crumpled to the ground. Ski glanced at the XO, then moved to bend over Nash, crouching down beside the crewman.

"Hey, Nash. Come on, buddy… You need to see the Doc."

Nash shook his head, but his anger had disintegrated, and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I didn't mean it…"

"Nash." Mr. Morton's voice was still calm and steady, with no hint of anger. "You need to see Dr. McKenzie. Kowalski will escort you there." He glanced around the control room and caught Riley's eye. "Riley, take over sonar. Ski…"

"Aye, sir." Ski put his hand under Nash's elbow and helped the sailor to his feet. "Come on, buddy. Doc will have something that will make you feel better for sure."

Sharkey left the helm again, to watch Ski take Nash out. He sidled over until he stood right next to Mr. Morton, his back to Riley at the sonar station and Malone at the hydrophones. "He's cracking up, sir." He spoke as softly as possible, not wanting anyone else to hear him.

Mr. Morton nodded and shot Sharkey a sidelong glance. "Keep an eye on him. I'm a little concerned about his views on Captain Crane."

He didn't know the half of it. Sharkey could tell him things that would curl his hair. Nash had been shooting his mouth off lately, and what he had to say wasn't pretty. A number of the guys were ready to beat him up over it, and it took all Sharkey's considerable ability to keep them in line. "Me, too, sir. Me, too."

Mr. Morton turned to look at him fully then. "You must have some interesting tales to tell, COB."

Something in the chief's words or tone had alerted him; Sharkey really didn't want to have to say anything, but maybe it was better this way. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening when they shouldn't, and then nodded his head. "Nash has been a little… off since we started this cruise, sir. Lately he's been talking about his friend who told him that the skipper was out to get him. And you should hear what he says about Captain Crane, sir." It wasn't fit for publication, that was for sure. "Some of the guys want to ring his bell for him, but so far I've kept them in line."

"His friend?"

Trust Mr. Morton to pick up on that interesting little tidbit. "No one knows who he's talking about. No one's ever seen this friend of his. Chief Mason has seen Nash muttering to himself several times on the boat, but he said Nash was never with anyone. He was always alone. Chief Mason thinks…"

"Maybe Chief Mason better tell me what he thinks, COB."

Sure, of course… Anything else would be hearsay only. "I'll tell him to talk to you, sir."

Mr. Morton nodded in agreement. "Thank you, COB." He turned and went briskly back to the watch station in front of the twin periscopes. Chief Sharkey went back to his station just behind the helm, feeling a little better about the whole situation. He should have known that Mr. Morton would realize that something was up with Nash. Nothing got past him. He might be a little slower at the moment, with the late nights, and the endless paperwork, but now that he'd tumbled to the situation, he would definitely do something about it. Sharkey would put the word out to the men that they could relax; the Nash problem was as good as solved.


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Will McKenzie pursed his lips as he watched Nash leave with an anxious Alfaro in tow. Kowalski had gone back to the control room where he was on watch, but Will hadn't thought Nash ready to go back to duty. He had called on Alfaro, who was one of Nash's bunkmates to escort him to crew quarters.

Nash was beginning to exhibit the classic signs of paranoid schizophrenia. He was about the age that such signs began to arise, but if he were diagnosed, it would mean the end of his days on the submarine. Yes, it could be controlled with medication, but on a sub – even one as roomy as Seaview – medication could easily be lost or forgotten, and if he forgot it, even for one day, that forgetfulness could have serious consequences. In addition, the cramped quarters would tend to heighten the feelings of paranoia, even if he were taking his medication regularly. It would be safer for all concerned if he were off the boat. Not the recommendation Will wanted to give, but he knew he would have to talk to Mr. Morton about relieving the man of duty.

Sad… Nash had a sick wife, and a widowed sister to support, and Will knew his sister, Sharon, quite well. She would take this hard. But even if he couldn't work on the submarine, there was a good chance that Nash could still remain employed by the Institute… If they could just keep him under control on this cruise, long enough for the boat to return to port successfully, then it would simply be a matter of convincing Admiral Nelson that Nash could function on medication, as long as he wasn't shut up in the confined space aboard the boat. Sharon would look out for him, make sure he took his medication before he went in to work. They always needed good radar operators at the Institute, and Nash was the best. It could work out well for him…

Sharon could be expected to look after Mary, Nash's very ill wife as well. Her cancer treatments wore her out, and she hardly ever got out of bed anymore. Will had spoken to her oncologist and knew that her prospects weren't good. For Nash to develop schizophrenia on top of Mary's cancer and the loss of Sharon's husband in an accident… Some people were given huge crosses to bear… Will hoped that Nash wouldn't collapse under his.

Chief Sharkey looked in, saw Will, and entered Sick Bay, his eyes sweeping the room. "How is he, Doc?" He frowned when he realized that Nash wasn't here. "Where is he?"

"He's not well, chief, and I sent him back to crew's quarters with Alfaro." Will gave the chief a steady gaze. He wouldn't be satisfied with just that simple reply. Francis Sharkey was the nosiest man on the boat – with good reason it was true, but still… Will smiled at the thought and decided it wouldn't hurt to let the COB know that Nash probably wouldn't be able to return to duty. "He is exhibiting symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia. I will be asking Mr. Morton to relieve him of duty."

Chief Sharkey scrubbed an eye with his hand; a little tell that told Will the man didn't like that news. "Not good, Doc." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Nash isn't going to take that well…"

That was true… Nash would not be best pleased. He'd always been regarded as a good man, highly trustworthy. That sort of man wouldn't take being relieved of duty well at all. But with his new paranoid tendencies, Nash might even turn violent. And if he thought the order had come from Captain Crane… "It has to be done, COB. He's a danger to himself and others if he's allowed to continue on duty. And he's especially resentful of Captain Crane…"

Sharkey shook his head. "Man, you've got that right, Doc. And no one can figure out why." He shivered at the thought. "If he thinks this order comes from Captain Crane, that could just make things worse."

Will pondered the thought, weighing what Nash had told him, wondering how much of it was true, and how much of it was just the weird meanderings of a sick mind. "He seems to think the skipper wants to dismiss him from the boat."

Sharkey frowned at that. "Then relieving him of duty will just prove to him he's right."

Will targeted the concerned COB with a sharp glare. "Do you want that man on duty when he snaps, COB? Do you want him someplace where he can do a huge amount of damage when he can no longer control himself?" He paced closer to the chief to make his point. "Kowalski told me he jumped at Mr. Morton in the control room, but Nash himself told me he doesn't have anything against our XO… He just couldn't control himself. What if it had been Lee? What do you think Nash would have done then?"

Sharkey raised his hands in a placating gesture, backing off a little. "I know, I know, Doc. I just…" He sighed. "He's a powder keg waiting for a spark, and God only knows what will set him off. I wish I knew what the best thing to do was…" He shook his head. "I'll have to get the keys to all the arms lockers on the boat, and have a word with the Master at Arms. We don't want Nash getting a hold of a gun. I'm afraid of what he'd do with it."

Will could empathize. He, too, worried about what an armed Steven Nash would do. Knowing exactly what to do didn't really answer the question of how to accomplish it without causing bigger headaches. "On the whole, I'd say the news was best coming from Mr. Morton, rather than Captain Crane. But it wouldn't hurt for you to go along, COB. And maybe I should, too." He could give Nash something that might settle him down. And if he could get him on medication that would control his schizophrenia before the cruise was over, things might get back to a semblance of order.

Sharkey shrugged. "If too many of us are hanging around, Doc, that could set him off, too." He paced toward the door. "Maybe you should stay out of it. No need for him to have a grudge against you, too."

Will pondered that, but dismissed it, although he knew Sharkey was probably right about the number of men who took the news to Nash. "I doubt he'd develop any sort of grudge towards me, COB. He'd likely just lay everything at the skipper's door." Which wouldn't be good either. But short of having the man hauled off to the brig, preventing some kind of trouble was almost impossible. They'd just have to do their best to minimize it as much as possible. He turned away from Sharkey, contemplating his medicine cabinet. He didn't carry the medications that were generally prescribed for paranoid schizophrenia… But he had one or two tranquilizers that might at least ease the symptoms some, and make Steven Nash a safer prospect until they reached home… "Perhaps if Mr. Morton ordered him to visit me daily… I might have one or two drugs that would ease his symptoms, or at least calm him down…"

Sharkey nodded thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea, Doc. If you do have something, and if he follows orders…"

The _if _hung in the air between them, unsettling them both. Nash likely wouldn't follow any orders he felt were prejudiced against him…


	8. Chapter 8

Nash huddled on his bunk – the lower bunk - watching his bunkmates with eagle eyes. They were playing cards and pretending to ignore him, but he knew they were watching him. Talking about him. Plotting against him… All of them. They took their cue from Crane, of course, and no one would be sympathetic to his plight. No one would take on Crane. He was too powerful and too malevolent. But Nash would take him down, and then things would be all right. They had to be.

Soon… He'd make a move soon. It took courage to stand against a tyrant and kill him, and Nash was still building his, still convincing himself that it was the right thing to do.

Of course, it was the right thing to do. His friend, Mr. Pem, had made that clear. With Captain Crane out of the way, his place on this boat was assured. The admiral would realize that Crane had poisoned everyone against Nash; he would publicly thank Nash for the service he'd done in removing the cancer from this boat, and Nash's future would be assured… He had to do it…

The door opened and Nash looked up, eyes hardening as he recognized the officer who entered. He had nothing against the XO; they had always rubbed along very well together. But today, he was probably here at the captain's bidding, and Nash knew what he was going to say. He hunched his shoulders and turned his back on the man, refusing to leap up and stand at attention like the rest of the men in the room. Hollow actions… If push came to shove and they were fighting for their lives, it would be every man for himself, and no one would give a damn about respecting the officers…

The XO scanned the men in the room, all standing at attention now, and dismissed them. The COB, who had followed Mr. Morton in, efficiently cleared the men from the room as the XO approached Nash.

The radar expert turned his stony gaze on his superior. He probably should have at least stood up, maybe even saluted, but he didn't feel like it. He felt like smashing something. But a fist in an officer's face would get him confined to the brig so fast, he wouldn't even be able to breathe… He knew he'd better keep his hands off the XO if he wanted his crack at Crane.

Mr. Morton crouched down to look at him, a surprise in Nash's book. And it wasn't that cold, impersonal look that hid every thought and feeling either; it was a look full of compassion as if he actually cared about Nash… Unable to stand the power of that steady gaze, Nash spoke with an amount of insolence he suddenly didn't feel. "What do you want?" He shouldn't talk like that… Crane might be out to get him, but he had no evidence that anyone else was… Why did he have so much anger building inside? Why did he suspect every whispered conversation, every innocent look? Was there really something wrong with him, like the Doc said?

No… No, it couldn't be… He was all right. It was everyone else. That was the only thing that made sense. Crane was poisoning their thoughts. When the captain was out of the way, everything would be normal again…

The COB started toward them, snarling at the insolence, but Mr. Morton waved him off. "I've talked to Dr. McKenzie."

Nash could just imagine what that blowhard had said. The conversation could only have gone one way.

_He's very sick, Mr. Morton… I'm afraid he's cracking up._

The bastard… Doctors and lawyers were the most corrupt people in the universe. "So?" He acted like he wasn't afraid, but a part of him worried about what was coming. He needed the money he got from Nelson to support his sick wife and his widowed sister… Mary's treatments were expensive, and Sharon was having trouble finding a job… He was the only one making any money at all. The salary for a man who worked radar at the Institute was generous, but if Crane cut him loose…

"He's concerned that you're not yourself. I think his concerns are valid." Mr. Morton's voice was unexpectedly gentle, but Nash felt no corresponding softening of his fear and anger. He knew what was coming: the punch line that would allow Crane to strip him of his job. Naturally the captain would have his good friend do the dirty work. Nash's fists clenched reflexively.

Mr. Morton noticed, his gaze flashing to Nash's hands, then back to the man's face. He studied Nash for a moment before he delivered the coup de grace. "I'm going to relieve you of duty, and direct you to make daily visits to Dr. McKenzie." He paused before continuing, keeping his voice very quiet and calm. "You're a good man, Steve. If you can get past this, we can see about reviewing your case and returning you to duty. Possibly a shore post."

And he sounded so sincere and so compassionate… But Nash knew it was just an act. Crane's first salvo, a shot over the bow, as it were; there would be no review and no shore post. When this cruise was over, Nash was done, unless he could get rid of Crane first. That Mr. Pem had been right; they were all in on it. No one would be his advocate against Crane. Not even Mr. Morton, who was usually so even-handed. No, even he was on Crane's side… Nash turned his face away angrily. "Liar. This is all coming from _**him**_! From Captain Crane, isn't it?"

Mr. Morton rose and stepped back, once again waving off the over-zealous, over-anxious COB. "My decision, Steve. You're clearly not well. This is the best course of action…"

He didn't finish before Nash leaped off the bunk, freezing as the COB leaped between them before he could lay hands on the man. Sharkey had always been Crane's creature. He would skewer Nash if he could… The sailor loomed up into the chief's face, but he directed his words at the officer beyond. "You're a liar! Crane's good buddy, aren't you! Do anything for him, even do his dirty work. But I should have guessed it would be this way. You're all against me! All of you!"

He stumbled and fell back on the bunk, when Sharkey shoved him, but Mr. Morton called the COB off sharply. Nash flashed a sneer at the chief. "Always the watchdog, aren't you. Tell Crane, he'll regret this."

Mr. Morton's eyes hadn't lost the compassion but his voice had turned icy, the way it always did when someone overstepped. "My decision," he said, and that cold voice was deceptively mild. "If you have a problem with it, take it up with me." He executed a perfect turn and walked out.

But Chief Sharkey remained, scowling at him. "You're lucky, Nash. If you'd laid a finger on him, there isn't anything or anyone on this boat that could have saved you." He drew his breath in sharply and tried to gentle his voice… All an act for Nash's sake, as if he were trying to convince him that someone was on his side. "Don't you understand? No one is against you! But if you follow through on your threats to the skipper, you'll have brought any retaliation on yourself." He backed off, giving Nash room to breathe. "Go see the Doc. And rest. Don't do something we'll all regret. Think about that."

Then he was gone, closing the door behind him and leaving Nash alone with his thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

Admiral Nelson sat in his quarters in the dark. Two days gone. Nash had been relieved of duty, and Sharkey had all the keys to the arsenal and the arms lockers scattered about the boat. All weapons were present and accounted for. Nash was never alone. He couldn't get a weapon, couldn't get loose on his own… Surely they had already won?

And yet… He shifted uneasily, listening to the sounds of the boat around him: the hum of the engines, the gentle hiss of the air revitalization unit, the sounds of men in the corridor outside heading about their business. Around the corner in his own cabin, Lee would be settling in for the night. Chip was probably working on reports… Neither of them really knew what was going to happen tomorrow…

Chip had done a good job. He had watched Nash, pinpointed the problem, and done something about it. As always, he had risen to the occasion, even with limited intel, and no real grasp of the situation. He had done his job with the consummate skill he always showed, and Lee should be safe… Yet, somehow Nelson knew that the problem persisted. Despite Chip's work, despite Nelson's own surreptitious efforts, something tragic would happen in the morning… He simply couldn't shake the feeling. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair. Was the sense of dread in his stomach simply a holdover from the first time he'd lived through this? Was it possible that he felt sick because he still held the memory of Lee's death in the morning?

Or was there more to it?

He lifted a trembling hand and switched on the globe on his desk, suffusing the room in its soft glow. Somehow the dim light didn't make anything look any better. His mind whirled in circles as the hour approached, and nothing he told himself convinced him that the danger was past.

He opened his drawer and took out the pocket watch, as if holding it in his hand would make him feel better, but it didn't take the dread away. How had any of this been possible?

He had always thought of time as linear… A sort of one-way street. Once you'd passed through the present, it became the past and you could never go back… But what if time were more like an ocean? What if every life cast a pebble into the ocean of time, sending out ripples that eventually washed against the shores of the future? If that were the case, it should be possible to build a ship that could travel on that ocean, following the ripples back to their origins… And if it were possible to do that, it would be possible to go beyond the origin, following the ripples of that life backward into the past to see how the past changed the present and the future… What if actions were simply more pebbles, making myriad ripples that fled toward the shores of future and past, causing epic tidal waves that could be controlled by the wayfarer on the ship, afloat on the ocean…

Why would a man choose to trust himself to the storms that moved across the face of that ocean? What did Pem stand to gain from helping Nelson? What ripples would be forever changed if the admiral were able to save his friend? Would the outcomes that swept outwards from this turning point cause irreparable damage, or would the changes be good ones? How would he ever know?

What were the rules that Pem had spoken of? Was it ethical to change the present, and thus the future? In traveling to the past to change the present, would he banish someone from existence? Would the tapestry threads that held the future together unravel if Lee lived? Did he have the right to act selfishly because this death hurt so much?

Or was time like he'd always believed, unchangeable, except for the future? Would he fail to save Lee, because no matter what he did, the past was fixed? Could he stand that revelation should it force itself upon him?

He threw the pocket watch down on his desk, hating it suddenly. What would he do if he couldn't change this? What would he do if he could? Too many unanswered and unanswerable questions. He wondered if Pem's time travel device would drive him crazy…

But no… It wouldn't be time travel that drove him insane…

Nelson rose from his chair, the movement so abrupt that the chair spun wildly for a moment, before slowly turning to a stop. He told himself there wasn't anything tangible behind this feeling. He dreaded the morning because three days ago, Lee had died. But tomorrow would be different. It had to be. If that changed the future irrevocably, so be it. He wouldn't lose another friend; he wouldn't lose the son he'd so desperately needed… He wouldn't lose a man. It wouldn't happen.

And if he did… He stared at the photos of John, Jiggs, and himself in younger, happier days. One had pride of place on the wall behind his desk, a reminder of the importance of good friends. John was laughing right into the camera, his arm draped lazily across Jiggs' shoulder, while Nelson was in profile, looking at Jiggs, a smile large on his face… Jiggs, too, was smiling, though he looked intensely uncomfortable in his winter dress blues. The photograph had been taken at John's wedding to Evelyn, and the men in the picture were all young and fit and alive with endless potential. John's collar pips gleamed gold, oak leaves that told his rank – Lt. Com. Phillips at the time. Nelson remembered that the wedding ring Evelyn had placed on his finger was chased with those gold oak leaves… The ring was gone now, buried with John four years ago.

If he did lose a man… He closed his eyes against the thought, but couldn't prevent himself thinking selfishly, _anyone but Lee…_

He wondered if he could live with that thought, should someone else die in Lee's place. He wondered if he would use the watch again, if given the chance… He wondered how his actions would affect the men who worked for him on this boat, how his decision to venture backward in time would change their lives for better or for worse. Possibly he had already set in motion the ripples that would take another man from him. Who would it be? When would it happen? Tomorrow, or later… Was it inevitable, or could that, too, be changed?

The thoughts awoke a throbbing ache in his head. This had to stop… If he couldn't get any sleep tonight, he wouldn't be prepared for whatever the morning brought. Chip had done the job he'd been asked to do. Lee was surely safe, and Nash was surely neutralized. All he had to do was believe that…

Why couldn't he believe that?


	10. Chapter 10

Lee lay awake, staring at the top of his bunk. Something was wrong, and it frustrated him that no one would tell him what it was…

He knew something was wrong because Chip was with him all the time; and when Chip wasn't hanging around like some overprotective mother hen, someone else was watching over him. He had asked Chip point blank only last night as they ate in the wardroom what was going on, but Chip had just smiled a smile that didn't touch his eyes and changed the subject.

Which meant it had to be something that Admiral Nelson had ordered. But why? Was it because of Nash? Nelson had asked about the crewman only a couple of days ago, which showed that he was concerned about Nash's increasingly strange behavior. And the COB had warned Lee that Nash seemed to be completely convinced that Lee was out to get him. Yesterday, Chip had relieved Nash of duty and ordered him to make daily visits to Will McKenzie. When Lee had been able to escape the XO's constant vigilance, he'd made a visit to Sick Bay, trailed by Crowe, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. Will had said carefully that Nash was exhibiting symptoms that heralded the onset of paranoid schizophrenia, and had warned Lee away from him.

Was that it? Did they think that Nash was dangerous to him? Were they afraid the crewman would lash out? Lee sighed and sat up; clearly sleep was out of the question tonight…

He had asked Will if medication would allow Nash to continue on the boat, but Will had seemed to think that was impossible. He had suggested a shore post, something that Chip, too, had thought the best option. Lee was willing to sign off on it, if it allowed Nash to continue to work for them. The man had a wife suffering from cancer, and a widowed sister who had come home to live with him. He needed the generous salary the admiral paid his employees, and the illness he appeared to be suffering from was hardly his fault. But if Nash pulled something before they reached port, no one would be able to help him…

Which explained a lot of things actually. Chip certainly exhibited all the signs of protectiveness, but he was probably trying to keep the two of them apart long enough that Nash could be settled down and the boat could reach port without incident.

Which meant he probably wasn't sleeping either. Lee smiled a fiendish smile; if Chip was sleeping, he deserved to be waked up, after his behavior the last couple of days. Lee rose, pulled on his robe, and padded to his cabin door in his slippers.

No one was in the hall. Lee slipped out of his cabin and went down the hall to Chip's. Naturally there was a light under the door. The paperwork hadn't vanished after all; it had just gone underground and was now swallowing up the XO's nights, while shepherding Lee around watchfully ate his days. What did a captain do with that?

At least Nelson hadn't insisted on a yeoman immediately. He had given in to Lee's persistent arguments that no one in the crew was ready, but had warned both Lee and Chip that he wouldn't wait forever. That he had waited at all was a good thing; it was allowing Chip to realize that he desperately needed help, like it or not. Lee had faith that very soon now, he would admit that fact to one or both of them, and then the admiral could go ahead with a clear conscience…

He tested the doorknob, and shook his head when he found it unlocked. A habit of five years in the making hadn't been changed successfully. The admiral would not be pleased, if he ever found out. Lee walked into the cabin, startling his XO. Chip came to his feet quickly, but relaxed when he saw it was the captain. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Lee glared at him. "Shouldn't you?"

Chip sighed, glanced down at the reports that littered his desk, and sank down into his chair again. "Too much to do."

Lee moved to sit in the other chair across the desk from his friend. "I've heard that sleep is highly overrated." There was an undertone of sarcasm to the words that wasn't lost on Chip.

The XO rubbed the bridge of his nose, signaling a headache; it was one of his unconscious tells that the whole crew understood and watched for. "I can't keep up anymore. I've tried…" His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head on his hand.

A rare moment. He never admitted to failure; instead he generally just redoubled his efforts. Lee regarded him for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "The admiral has tried to convince you that you need help…"

"After what happened to the last one?"

Wendy Allbright… Whose death had been a painful lesson to all of them. It had sparked a great many changes, most of them uncomfortable, no matter how necessary they may have been. Chip had worked even harder after she'd been murdered; if he was now admitting that he still couldn't keep up with the paperwork required of him, then it was time for action. "You know that wasn't your fault. And you don't have to try to keep up with it all on your own. We keep telling you that." He allowed a teasing note to creep into his voice, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.. "Not our fault that you're too pig-headed to listen."

Chip smiled wearily at that, protesting the comment. "I'm pig-headed? What about you?"

"The difference is that I'm willing to admit I'm pig-headed. But you? You're too pig-headed…" He laughed at the look on Chip's face, and changed the subject. "So… What's up?"

His XO settled back in his chair, trying to look innocent. He actually did a very good job of it. Lee often envied Chip his perfect poker face. "What do you mean?"

"You never let me go anywhere on this boat alone. What's with that? Are you afraid I'll have an accident?"

Chip considered that thoughtfully. "Well… You are accident-prone…"

Okay, he'd left himself open for that one. Lee shifted in his chair, his mood sobering. "It has something to do with Nash, doesn't it? What do you expect him to do?"

Chip sat up a little straighter. "I don't know… But the admiral's worried, the COB's worried, and frankly, having heard what Nash has to say about you, I'm worried, too."

Lee contemplated that; a whole lot of people worried, if what Chip said was true, and none of them except Sharkey were worriers by nature. "Level with me. Is Nash going to be able to continue even in a shore post?"

Chip considered the question carefully, as he always did when asked about the men. "Will thinks that with the proper medication he can function normally as long as he remains on shore. The problem is that Will doesn't have the proper medication in his supplies."

"Hence the reason Nash has been relieved and you have people following me around everywhere I go." Answers made Lee more resigned to the precautions, though he hated the fact that no one had told him anything. "You might have told me what you were doing."

Chip grimaced. "The admiral…"

Of course… The admiral – for whatever reason – didn't think Lee should be told. Probably he just didn't want Lee worrying about it. He hadn't seemed to grasp yet that Lee was more likely to worry if he didn't know what was going on. "He wanted me left out of the loop." He crossed his arms over his chest, targeting the XO with a glare that should have been directed at Nelson.

"Not exactly…" But whatever it was exactly, Chip wasn't forthcoming. Lee didn't blame him. The admiral could get sticky when his orders were disobeyed. It wasn't fair to put Chip in that position. With a sigh, Lee rose from his chair.

"Try to get some sleep, okay? And don't forget to lock your door."

Chip rolled his eyes, but got up as well and walked Lee to the door. "I hate this policy."

Lee knew that the men approved of it, however. They had enjoyed having the freedom to speak to the XO whenever they needed to, but after the incident with Dr. Kelly, most of them were willing to make sacrifices for the safety of the command team. Lee stepped into the hallway and said pointedly. "Just lock the door." He didn't wait for an answer, but padded away to his own room, and hopefully some sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Nelson glanced up as Chip Morton came down the spiral stairs. He nodded acknowledgement to the admiral, moved past Lee with a soft exchange, and bent over Kowalski at the sonar station. After a moment, he moved further aft to the radar station, quietly gathering status reports from the personnel on watch.

Lee shook his head and smiled at Nelson. "I guess he couldn't stand the paperwork."

The admiral said nothing. He knew why Chip was here. Zero hour was fast approaching, and the XO was maneuvering closer to the aft hatch, where Nash would appear. Doing his job…

The XO had made sure to be close to Lee as often as possible without arousing the captain's suspicions. And when he couldn't be near Lee, then someone else was – Sharkey, Kowalski, Patterson, someone who was absolutely trustworthy. And now, here he was in the Control Room, surreptitiously watching for Nash. There was a tension about him, as if he were contemplating all the possibilities and preparing for drastic measures.

Drastic measures… Nelson wasn't sure what sort of drastic measures would be called for. With the increased security about the armory and the small arms lockers, Nash shouldn't have been able to get a weapon. There was no way he could advance far enough into the control room with a knife or a blunt instrument to reach the captain. Someone would take him down, probably Chip himself, judging from his hyper-vigilance. There might be a minor injury or two, but surely nothing serious… There should be no need for drastic measures… If all went according to plan, Lee would survive, and Nelson wouldn't have to bury him. That was the only outcome he would accept. Nothing else mattered.

_But who __**will**__ you have to bury, Harry?_

John's voice, a sinister thread through his thoughts. He shut the voice away, refusing to listen to it. No one was going to die today. Everyone was on edge, yes, but no one was going to die. Chip had done good work, he'd risen to the occasion, like he always did, even when Nelson kept him mostly in the dark. He'd met and exceeded expectations once again. This time would be different. This time Lee would live…

But Chip hadn't yet worked his way around to the aft hatch when Nash made his entrance, at least ten minutes earlier than expected. The crewman yelled Lee's name, and pulled a gun, a surprise that probably should have frozen Nelson to the spot. But he hadn't really expected that Nash wouldn't be able to get his hands on the weapon. He couldn't explain his foreboding, but he hadn't earned his four stars by ignoring his gut intuition. Somehow he had known that Nash would get his hands on a gun, and every muscle was prepared for that eventuality…

Nelson was already moving, almost before Nash called out the captain's name, pushing Lee to the floor, watching for Chip's reaction, and thinking disgustedly that the XO was still too far away. Nash would get the shot off.

Lee was struggling to his feet; Nelson tried to shove him down again, but Lee threw his hand off and rose, turning to face Nash. Time telescoped outward; every second seemed like hours. The admiral saw Chip sweep the control room with those cold calculating eyes, and take a step. Not toward Nash… Instead he moved on a path that would carry him between the crazed crewman and Lee. Nash pulled the trigger as Chip took the second step, and Nelson suddenly realized what he was going to do.

"No!" Impossible… This couldn't be happening… Nelson moved as quickly as he could, but he knew he wasn't fast enough, that he was too far away, and that Chip would ignore the shouted command. He would be thinking only about saving Lee's life… "No, damn it!"

But it was already too late. The bullet slammed into Chip, hurling him back and down. He hit the floor hard, but Nelson knew he didn't feel it. The bullet had entered his heart with catastrophic force. Chip was dead before he hit the deck.

Lee pushed past Nelson, crumpling at his friend's side, searching desperately for a pulse, for any sign of a life that had already fled. His face turned ashen, as he began to administer CPR. He must have known it was hopeless, yet he continued to compress the XO's chest, even after Kowalski moved closer and spoke to him in a soft voice. "Sir… There's nothing you can do for him, sir…"

Lee ignored him, muttering under his breath… Or was he speaking to his dead friend, trying to force the man to listen, even though all ability to do so had fled?

Will entered the control room at a run. It seemed to Nelson that people were moving all around him, trying to help, moving to a place where they could gawk in awkward silence, or moving back to let the doctor and his corpsman in. Kowalski wrapped his arms around the captain and pulled him away from the body, holding him when Lee struggled to return, to continue the chest compressions that were utterly useless now. Will shot him a concerned glance, as he supervised the removal of Chip's body from the deck. O'Brien drew in a deep breath and ordered the men back to their stations. Will laid a hand on Lee's shoulder and spoke to Ski quietly. In a few moments, he left the control room, followed by Ski who gently shepherded the captain before him…

But Nelson couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Of all the outcomes he had considered three days ago when he'd told Chip Morton about the threat to Lee's life, he had never imagined this, never thought the man would willingly, unhesitatingly, deliberately take a bullet for his captain. And, Nelson realized with a cold feeling of dread and guilt, he should have known. He'd known Chip Morton for twenty years; it should have come as no surprise that the young man would choose that kind of sacrifice if he felt the situation called for it. He had been too far from both Lee and Nash to tackle either one. But a simple two steps had offered the solution. Nelson had only asked for Lee's safety, after all; he hadn't even thought to demand that Chip guarantee his own as well…

And he was surprised at how hard this loss hit him. He hadn't thought that guilt and sorrow would squeeze his lungs until he couldn't breathe, hadn't considered that – despite the distance he had put between them – he could still hurt this badly…

_Anyone but Lee…_ He had told himself that he could bear the loss of anyone on this boat but Lee… But it wasn't true. Why hadn't he known that? Why hadn't he realized that there was more than one life on this boat that was infinitely precious to him? Why hadn't he remembered the lesson of Afghanistan, only ten years before? Why hadn't he thought about those seven days in hell, believing his protégé was dead, before news finally came? He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the white faces around him; the anguished looks the men gave him. Instead, he turned away, wanting nothing more than to rail at someone, to find someone to blame for this debacle…

But the only person he could blame was himself…


	12. Chapter 12

Success! Pem knew immediately when his plan finally came to fruition. He could sense the shudder as the timeline realigned. The sense of nausea that twisted his gut and the memories crawling through his head heralded his success. Because he had wrought the change, his old memories remained, memories of oppression by the Time Board, memories of humiliation dealt out by Admiral Morton… But he also was forming new memories… Memories of an Admiral Harriman Crane, born because his ancestor had met and eventually married Sharon Nash. Pem giggled at that. If Crane were like his ancestor, he might be looser, sunnier, easier to get along with. That could only mean more freedom… He could almost taste it. There was still a Time Board, but now he could bend the rules. With that hard-nosed jackass, Admiral John Morton out of the way – truly out of the way; he never existed – he could travel as he wished, do what he wanted. He savored that with closed eyes and deep breaths. That was the beauty of time travel. A man could change the whole future simply by searching the timeline, finding the spot that could be changed with a minimum of fuss, and making a plan. Admiral John Nelson Morton had a host of illustrious ancestors. But Pem had tracked them back farther and farther until he'd reached the early twenty-first century, where the entire line rested on one man's shoulders…

And then he'd come up with a plan. Killing Lt. Commander Morton outright was foolish. Someone in his time would recognize that it had Pem's name written all over it… But there was no reason he couldn't convince an unstable crewman to kill Captain Crane. He had nothing against Crane, but Admiral Nelson wouldn't stand for that death. Of course, he had taken the bait on Pem's hook and gone back three days to save his captain. Of course, he had enlisted help in the person of Lt. Commander Morton. And of course, Admiral Morton's twenty-first century ancestor had acted according to character and taken the bullet. And now, he was experiencing sweet revenge and wonderful victory all in the same moment.

No Admiral Morton to tell him how many times he'd violated Time Board regulations. A less hard-nosed Time Board and fewer of those damned regulations. Pem was free now to travel wherever and whenever he wished, to do whatever he wished. He could make any changes he cared to make; his life would be easier, richer… Oh, he couldn't wait!

Just one more conversation with Admiral Nelson. Plant a single thought in his head. He had planned it all so carefully; he knew it was unlikely anyway that Nelson would try to go back again. The captain was the man he really cared about, the son he'd never had. Unlikely indeed that he'd bother with that cold fish, Morton. Never showed anything in his face, never betrayed by a single hair what he thought or felt. Oh, Admiral Morton had been just like him…

But… It was always good practice to have a contingency plan. Pem would plant the seed in Nelson's head that time compensates. It was only true. Time did always compensate. If a life were required, then a life would be demanded. But in this case, naturally a life hadn't been required. Pem had simply reached out and taken one. But the admiral didn't know that, and so the admiral theoretically could be convinced. He smiled, anxious to get that conversation over with, and to return to his own time to enjoy his victory.

Ah, here was the admiral now…

Pem frowned. He had not expected this dejection; the harsh guilt in the set of the man's shoulders, the despair in those blue eyes. This was something he hadn't planned for. "Admiral! I am so sorry for your loss."

The admiral straightened his shoulders and looked into Pem's eyes, and his own were suddenly blazing. "Sorry? Sorry! So help me, if I thought that you knew this would happen…"

Pem hastened to cut him off, spreading his fingers widely in a show of innocence. "Of course, I didn't know… Well… I didn't know who it would be…" He stepped back several steps, suddenly afraid of the look on Nelson's face.

The admiral spit his words out between clenched teeth. "What do you mean you didn't know who?"

Pem assumed a sorrowful expression, but scurried back another step or two, just in case. "I'm so sorry, admiral, but surely you knew… Time always compensates. To save your captain, of course, you had to surrender another life. I thought you understood…" Oh, that sounded marvelous. Just the right amount of concern…

The admiral glared at him, but the starch had gone out of his shoulders. He sat down in the chair behind his desk. "You didn't tell me that."

"I was so sure I had…" Pem shrugged. "I am sorry. But you must realize that a life for a life is a common theme throughout time. Your captain is safe. Surely that must make you happy?"

The admiral snarled at him, but didn't speak. It was clear that – for whatever reason – it didn't necessarily make him happy, though he was certainly relieved. But as he stared at his desktop, his gaze brushed against the pocket watch, and he laid a hand on it. Not good. Pem should have picked it up before the admiral returned to his quarters. "I can go back again…"

"I wouldn't recommend it, admiral." Pem thought quickly. There had to be some way to make him refuse that option. "You don't know who you'll lose… It could be anyone. It could even be the captain again… How will you safeguard everyone you care about?" He shook his head sadly. "You cannot keep going back in time trying to rescue people. Best that you quit while you're ahead…" He paused just the right amount of time. "And you are ahead, admiral. You have your captain back. Do you want to risk him for someone else?"

He could see the answer in Nelson's eyes; the answer that meant that his victory was permanent. He had to bite his tongue to keep from sharing his glee. Goodbye, Admiral Morton.

Wonderful. He reached into his pocket and activated his own pocket watch, anxious to return to his own time and see the changes.


	13. Chapter 13

He turned the Purple Heart in his fingers, remembering the last time he'd held it in his hands. Almost ten years ago, now, waiting in the Ronald Reagan's infirmary for the ship's Chief Medical Officer to grant him a few minutes for an informal presentation.

_The medal had arrived that morning, expedited by Jiggs Stark, and now he held the presentation box in his hand, smiling to himself, knowing the young man would be completely surprised, unaware that Nelson was even there._

_ But he had been there since he'd received the dispatch from Jiggs that told him his protégé had been shot down behind enemy lines and was presumed dead…_

_ A week of pure hell had followed that dispatch. At first there had been nothing but the urgency of reaching the Ronald Reagan, the need to be there if any more word came. Then had come the anguish, the grief, the anger at the men who had wasted such a promising young life… And at last, after seven days, the radio message from SSN Indianapolis that they had picked up three missing pilots, two injured… And sure enough, one of the injured pilots had been Chip Morton. But more interesting was the tale the other two pilots had to tell; a tale that had earned Chip his Bronze Star…_

Nelson looked down at the pale, lifeless face. He looked much younger, if that were possible, with all that energy, all the focused intensity wiped away. Odd… Chip had always been dispassionate, unreadable, unemotional. But despite an almost constant impression of uncanny stillness, he had never really been still… This breathless, lifeless stillness was so unnatural that it cut deeply, laying open the admiral's soul.

He placed the Purple Heart in its original presentation box and set it aside. The medals would go to Elizabeth, who had never really appreciated her son, and wouldn't appreciate the legacy he left behind… Nelson had wanted them to go to Lee, or to keep them himself, but that wasn't the way things worked. They would go to a woman who wouldn't ever know or care how much they spoke to the kind of man her son had been. Only the ribbons would accompany Chip into eternity.

Why had he thought he could do this? Patterson and Kowalski had volunteered, but after a conversation with Pem that had stirred up his anger and guilt, Nelson had secured this task for himself, as a kind of penance… His fingers had faltered throughout, as numb as his mind and soul.

_I'm so sorry, admiral, but surely you knew… Time always compensates. To save your captain, of course, you had to surrender another life. I thought you understood…_

But he hadn't understood. And as a result, they would be burying Chip in the morning. Somehow he had never thought he'd be standing here, never thought he would have to bury one of the young men he'd always thought of as his successors.

He hadn't been able to stomach Lee's death, but this death he would have to swallow, even if he choked on it. Gently, he crossed the young man's pale, cold, elegant hands over his chest. The Annapolis ring wasn't one he'd habitually worn, but Nelson had found it in a drawer in his desk, and thought it was appropriate that he be buried with it. Elizabeth shouldn't have everything; she didn't care about anything but what John had left him, so few years ago… Knowing Chip, he would have provided for mother and sister in his will. Elizabeth would finally get the old Victorian house that had been in John's wife's family for a little under a hundred and fifty years. She would finally get the contents – some valuable antiques that Evelyn Delancy Phillips had treasured. And undoubtedly, she would give whatever money there was to her daughter, Sunny, who would spend it recklessly on a fix and a good time. They neither one of them would spare a thought for the son and brother they'd lost. How such a man could have been cursed with such a family…

But it was done, now. Looking down on that pale face and the closed eyes, Nelson wished he'd done more, somehow been more influential… It was a strange thought, because he knew he'd done a great deal, and that Chip had always looked up to him, admired him… Yet he also knew he hadn't done much to deserve that admiration, after John's death. He would change it now, if he could.

_Anyone but Lee… Isn't that what you said, Harry? _

If only John's chastising voice would shut up. Yes, he had said that to himself, keeping the thought private, and yes, it had come back to haunt him. It wasn't true; it hadn't had a prayer of being true, no matter how confidently he had believed it. As always, John's voice in his head was right. Didn't make it any easier to listen to him now.

_It's too late now to second guess yourself. What are you going to do about this?_

There was nothing he could do about this… Yes, he could pull out the pocket watch and go back in time again. But who would he sacrifice then? There was no way to save everyone on board the boat. He didn't want to lose any of them, not even Nash, who had started the whole damned mess… Was it Nash's fault that he was mentally ill? Will thought he could function normally with the right medication. Could he be blamed for this?

He found himself staring at the neat stack of medal boxes, all carrying a medal awarded for a particular action, a particular quality. Something no one else had done, something no one else had accomplished… Something that set the wearer apart from everyone else. A Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, Antarctica Service, with the Wintered Over bar, Afghanistan Campaign… A unique combination, that spoke of a unique and valuable man… One he had never valued the way he should have; one who had never in his young life been valued the way he should have been… Nelson closed his eyes, then reached for the last box, the one that held the wings.

He pinned those gold instructor's wings over the gold submarine dolphins. At Captain Howell's disastrous retirement party four months ago, Nelson had noticed for the first time that those wings weren't uniformly worn anymore. For whatever reason, Chip had begun to leave them off when he dressed for duty. But Nelson wouldn't send him to his rest without them. They were an integral part of who Chip Morton had been, a statement of what he had been able to achieve. They belonged on his uniform; if he'd still been alive, Nelson would have told him so, and seen to it that they were worn at all times…

He frowned at the khaki uniform, the one they wore afloat, with the dress jacket for greeting important guests to the boat. If they'd been ashore, Nelson would have insisted on dress blues and full military honors. Chip had always looked well in dress blues; the contrast to his fair coloring, Nelson supposed. He had always turned the ladies' heads, though he seldom noticed the attention he garnered. Once they noticed the Purple Heart, he could have had a date with any of them he wanted. But he was particular, quiet, a little shy about relationships. When he did choose to date a woman, she was generally pretty special… None of those special women had ever been the one… Perfection was pretty hard to find; as hard to find as it was to attain, but Chip had always demanded perfection of himself as well. Dress blues and full military honors would have given him the attention and respect he had deserved but never sought.

But they were afloat, and the khaki dress jacket would have to do. He laid the pristine khaki cover over the still, crossed hands and studied his handiwork… As always, everything was in its proper place, neatly pressed, sharply creased, not so much as a hair out of place. It would have been criminal negligence to send him to his rest in a condition less perfect than he had exhibited during his short life. Such a waste. Surely if it hadn't been Lee's time to go, it couldn't have been…

Nelson raised his head and his eyes narrowed. Was his memory in error? But no… Pem _**had**_ told him that it was permissible to go back because it wasn't Lee's time to go…

_But it's not your captain's time to go, Admiral. Someone else has already mucked around with the past, and you are suffering the consequences_.

But if that was the case, why then did someone else have to die so that time could compensate? Why did he have to surrender a life for a life, if a life were not originally required?

Because Pem gained something from this… Because in his own time, somehow Pem benefited… And if that were all it was, to hell with Pem. Nelson did not do anyone's bidding, and he would not let Chip rot, anymore than he had left Lee dead. Pem was the one who had mucked around with the past, and Nelson wouldn't let him have the upper hand. Whatever benefit he might have derived from what was plainly murder, he would not be allowed to profit.

Nelson spun on his heel and stalked out of his XO's cabin, startling the honor guard in the hallway. He ignored them and turned the corner, heading for his own cabin and a pocket watch that would take him back three days. And this time, he was damned if he'd sacrifice anyone. There would be no burial at sea in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

Chief of the Boat Francis Sharkey stared at the admiral in shocked surprise. Okay… There were a lot of times when he didn't understand what Admiral Nelson was saying. The man had a Ph.D in Marine Biology and another in Chemistry, and he had four stars on his collar to boot. But this tale of death and time travel was so totally out of left field that Sharkey wasn't even sure how to take it…

It was a given that the admiral was telling the truth; he always told the truth unless there were a compelling reason not to. But time travel? First the skipper dead, then Mr. Morton? But Sharkey had seen the both of them in the control room not ten minutes earlier. How was it possible that one or the other of them would be dead in just a few days? "Uh, sir…"

"Just listen, Francis." The admiral gave him that sharp look that told Sharkey he'd better pay attention. "I've got Lee covered. Either Kowalski or I will be with him at all times. When Nash enters the control room in three days time, one of us will make sure that the captain is safe."

Sharkey sensed a _but_ and leaned in, listening intently.

"But…" The admiral's voice trailed off, and for a moment there was an enormous grief in his eyes. "If Mr. Morton runs true to form…"

And he would, no doubt of that. Sharkey was convinced that a man could set his moral compass by Mr. Morton, and he had a hunch the admiral felt the same way. If anyone were going to do something to save the skipper, it would be Mr. Morton.

"He will take the bullet to save Lee." The admiral frowned at that, but Sharkey had no doubt it was true. Whatever his personal feelings, Mr. Morton would do what needed to be done to save the boat. A dead captain wouldn't benefit the boat at all; when that captain was also his friend, there was little doubt that Mr. Morton would willingly take a bullet… Hell, he'd probably do it eagerly.

Sharkey shook his head and focused on the admiral's words. "It will be up to you to prevent that. I don't care how you do it." Those blue eyes blazed as they targeted the COB. "But make sure that Nash doesn't shoot _**anyone**_."

Sharkey could do that. He would shadow Mr. Morton everywhere he went, so he'd be Johnny-on-the-spot when the time came. It would earn him that lung-freezing glare, but as long as he had orders from the admiral, he was immune to that. At least, mostly immune. He could ignore it with impunity, which amounted to the same thing. Sometimes you just had to be firm with the admiral's officers. They were a stunningly martyrish group. Not one of them would hesitate to sacrifice themselves for the good of the boat, or the men, or some higher cause. Where Admiral Nelson had found them all, Sharkey couldn't begin to figure; in his experience, officers just weren't all that great. Most of them were intelligent enough – though he was compelled to admit that some of them were dumb as dirt – but they didn't have the courage of a mouse. Oh, sure, they'd fight when cornered. But most of them spent years avoiding confrontation. But this group? Meritorious, everyone of them, enough so, that Sharkey sometimes felt compelled to snatch himself bald. The least he could do to show his respect was to honor the admiral's request to the best of his ability. "You got it, sir." He rose from his chair, determined to get to work when a question occurred to him. "Why not just throw Nash in the brig?"

Nelson spread his fingers against the desktop, a sure sign that he had wondered the same thing himself… and hadn't liked the answer. "No proof, COB. Not one shred of evidence that he will go berserk and shoot the captain." He paused, and sighed. "And Will thinks he's sick, that it's not his fault… We should honor that, and try to help him."

Oh, sure… Help a guy who was crazy… He tries to shoot the captain… Shoots the XO instead… It was definitely a convoluted tale, but no one was going to die this time, not even Nash. Sharkey contemplated that with a frown. "But where does he get the gun?"

"We don't know." But Sharkey could tell that the admiral had a few thoughts about that. Maybe something to do with the time travel that had apparently been running rampant around here? It didn't matter. Sharkey would just confiscate the keys to the armory, and to all the arms lockers, and make sure that Nash couldn't get access to any weapons. If he got it somewhere else, well there wasn't much they could do about that, except stay vigilant and hope they could catch him at it.

But it was weird that the admiral remembered the events that had happened before, when Sharkey had no memory of them at all. "Sir… Why don't I remember all this stuff happening?"

The admiral smiled at that, though really it was a pale shadow of a smile, and the anger that had been obvious since Sharkey had entered burned through it quickly enough. "Because you haven't lived through it yet, Francis. With luck, you'll only have to live through it once."

But if the admiral were right, he'd already lived through it twice… Only maybe he hadn't, because he hadn't gone back in time; the admiral had traveled back three days, and Sharkey hadn't even known what was going to happen, until the admiral had called him to his cabin… Man, this time travel stuff was giving him the world's worst headache. But he could still reassure the admiral. "It won't be luck, sir," Sharkey promised grimly. "I promise you, we'll all live through this, but there'll be no luck involved."


	15. Chapter 15

The admiral watched Sharkey go, then remembered that when he had come back the first time, he had called Chip to his cabin to speak to him. If he didn't do it, now, what would that do to the future? He didn't really want to contemplate that, so he pressed the button on his intercom and snapped out, "Mr. Morton, to my cabin on the double." He couldn't remember if those were the exact words he'd used before. He rather thought they hadn't been, and worried what that might mean. Time travel was going to give him a headache…

"Mr. Morton has the word, sir." Lee's voice, blessedly alive and with an undertone of humor. His words were words the admiral remembered perfectly. In a few moments, Chip would knock on the door…

But when the knock came, it was somehow still surprising… Nelson studiously avoided looking, but said clearly, "Enter," and heard the door open. Only then did he look, trying to block out the last time he'd seen that young face…

Chip came up to the desk and stood there, waiting. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Nelson rose and looked at him, surprised at the way his heart quickened, the way his hands clenched. He could remember that his first sight of Lee after seeing Lee dead what seemed like only minutes before had been a shock for him. Then, he hadn't been able to shake the memory of Lee's dead body as he looked at the living man. This, too, was a shock, but this time he was more successful in blocking out that deathly pallor, and the still, lifeless hands… He drank in the impassive face, the cool blue eyes, the pristine uniform… Odd, how for some reason, he was suddenly able to see things he'd never been able to see before in those eyes that looked back at him so coolly. There was a bit of apprehension, behind the calm gaze, a tightness to that pale face, as if he expected to be chewed out. The emotions that hid behind that façade were suddenly plain, as if having stared into a dead face, with all emotion smoothed away, the admiral was hyper-aware now of the thoughts and feelings that moved behind that dispassionate mask. "Sit down, Chip."

He waited and watched as Chip subsided into a chair, wondering what he had said before. He didn't know if it were important to say exactly the same things or not. After all, none of this had happened the first time, the time that Lee had died…

Oh, God, how could he think of that so cavalierly? Lee dead… It still cut him absolutely to the quick. But then the alternative… The alternative didn't bear thinking of, either. He'd prepared them both for burial, and he could no more choose between them now than he could fly to the moon. There had to be a middle ground. He would find the path that allowed him to keep them both alive.

"Sir, are you all right? Should I call Will?"

He remembered those words, but he didn't remember seeing the concern before, the worry in those blue eyes. Again, he was reading what he'd never been able to read before. It was so odd… He wondered how long this new ability would last… How long, before he once again forgot how to read the emotions behind the outward façade? "I'm fine."

But what did he say? What could he say to a dead man who was no longer dead? He knew that Chip was a true skeptic. He remembered the disbelief when he'd spoken of time travel before. "You're not much good at believing any wild tale, are you?" The words were gentler this time. Nelson knew the value of that skepticism. It had proven itself, time and again. But he also knew the admiration and respect that would listen to him and believe what couldn't be believed, simply because the admiral had said so. He had seen his own power to hurt; he intended to wield it more carefully in the future… If he only remembered to do so.

So there was no need to add the part about calling Sharkey. He'd only said it the first time to wound, because he hurt so much himself that he chose to lash out at a man who was such an easy target. He'd hit the mark, too. He wouldn't fire that arrow this time. Besides, he'd already spoken to Sharkey, and he had absolute faith that the COB would do his job.

But he still got the same response, though clearly Chip was puzzled. "I promise to listen, sir. And I'll work on keeping an open mind."

Nelson had to smile at the earnestness behind those words. An open mind indeed… Fortunately for the admiral, his young command team did keep exceptionally open minds. They had seen a lot for all their youth, for all the jokes Nelson sometimes got from his colleagues about the nursery he was running on his boat. He would back this team against any other command team in the Navy or out of it. And he wouldn't lose his money either. Yes, Chip would keep an open mind, for all his skepticism. He would weigh the admiral's words carefully and come to his own conclusions, conclusions he probably wouldn't share with anyone. But whether he thought Nelson was on the mark or crazy, he would do his best to look after Lee… He just wouldn't use that same care in looking after himself. Hence Sharkey, who had already proven that he could look after anyone.

What had he said before? Oh, yes, something like… "I know you will, lad. And I've made up my mind anyway. You need to know what's going on." Nelson drew in a deep breath, contemplating his XO. The news wouldn't go over well. This man had never lived through the coming three days. Yes, it was the second time he'd sat in Nelson's presence listening to the admiral explain the situation, but that was only because the admiral had always caught him at this point in time.

From this point, time diverged into at least two separate pathways. From this point, Nelson hoped to start yet a third path, a path that would give him what he needed: a living command team that had never experienced the traumas that Nelson hoped to prevent in three days. What would happen to the other two pathways? Would they fade away, even out of Nelson's own memory? Or would he preserve the memory of them forever? Would he even know the answers in three days' time, or would he never find out?

Three days… Three days before Nash entered the control room and one or the other of his command team would take a bullet… Three days to prevent a death, and hopefully not suffer through another. Three days to change the future once again… How would he ever be able to make this right?


	16. Chapter 16

Chip glared at Sharkey again, turning the intensity up a notch. The man had been following him around for three days, and he'd been present outside Chip's cabin every morning for all the world like he'd been standing guard. As if that weren't bad enough, he'd followed the XO to the wardroom every day and waited outside as Chip had presided over the junior officers at breakfast, then tagged along down the spiral stairs into the control room. This was far from the first time in the past three days that Chip had warned him off with a glare, but when Sharkey took it into his head to do something, no power on Earth could change his course. "COB!"

Sharkey winced. "Sir?" His expression was deceptively innocent. Whatever thoughts were spinning behind those questioning brown eyes were admirably hidden. Sharkey didn't really have a poker face, but he was well armored against upstart officers who wanted to know what he was doing. And clearly at the moment, he considered his XO one of those upstart officers.

"Why are you following me?" Chip folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at the chief. He could feel the control room watch tense up around him, a reaction to his very visible displeasure, but he had no effect on Sharkey whatsoever. Whatever the COB's reasons, he clearly thought they were good ones.

Sharkey ducked his head, but he was very much a bulldog, unwilling and unable to let go, even if it was in his best interests. "Orders, sir."

Orders? Whose orders? Chip studied the COB speculatively and decided that was information the man wouldn't give up. So instead of asking, he swallowed his impatience and turned away, making his way around the control room as he worked on the problem himself.

There were really only two people who could have given orders that would supersede his own: Lee or the admiral. Lee wasn't likely to order the COB to follow his XO. There was no reason to do so, and besides, Lee knew very well that it was his own life that was under threat. The conversation they'd had in Chip's cabin last night had made it clear that Lee was well aware something was up, so it wasn't feasible to keep things from him anymore.

And actually Lee had commented on Sharkey's presence outside the cabin… He clearly hadn't ordered it, if he had no idea why the chief was there.

Which left the admiral… But the admiral was concerned about Lee, as well he should be, and had no reason to ask Sharkey to follow the XO around like a well-trained dog. It made no sense.

Unless Sharkey had simply taken it upon himself to do so. The COB hadn't been best pleased at the way Steven Nash had taken the news that he was relieved of duty. Did he think that the crewman had transferred his resentment of Lee to Chip? Unlikely…

Nash stepped through the aft hatch, drawing his attention. Early. The admiral had said he would come through there at 0940 hours. It was barely 0930. He was too early and too far away. The fact that he was there at all proved Nelson's knowledge of the future… How he had known was a question for later, when this conundrum was resolved in the only way he could imagine it being resolved…

Chip swept the control room with an anxious gaze. Lee was standing by the chart table, unaware that Nash was there. The admiral had moved up to stand next to the captain, shooting an anxious glare at his XO, and Kowalski, too, had risen from the sonar station, ready to act. Behind him, Riley had quietly slid into Ski's seat, so that sonar remained manned. Lee was covered, although even that shouldn't be necessary, since there was no way Nash could be armed…

With shocking suddenness Nash pulled a gun he couldn't possibly have gotten from the arsenal on board, because it had been under constant supervision for the past three days. Nor could the gun have come from one of the small arms lockers scattered in strategic areas of the boat, because Chip had made sure that Sharkey had all those keys in his possession. Where had that gun come from?

No time to examine the mystery in any sort of detail. Nash took aim, yelling Lee's name with an hysterical tremor in his voice. "Crane!" There was no time to do anything now but act…

Chip raked the control room with a glare, furiously calculating the best course of action. Lee was further from him than Nash, and the crewman's finger was already tightening on the trigger. He could reach neither one of them in time. The quickest and best solution – the one with the best hope of a positive outcome - was to step between them and take the bullet. Chip moved forward quickly as the gun roared and spat out its projectile. Time was moving too fast, but if he moved straight forward, just one more step, he would intercept the bullet… He heard the admiral's cry of protest, and ignored it, intent on the one course of action that would save the captain's life. Without even thinking about what it would mean to take that bullet, unhesitatingly, he took the step that would put him in its path…

But he had reckoned without Sharkey. Before he even realized what was happening, the chief tackled him, carrying him to the floor underneath Sharkey's stocky weight, and pinning him down. The bullet passed overhead with a menacing whine. Chip's heart lurched, symptom of his anxiety that Sharkey's action had guaranteed Lee's death. He struggled against the chief's grip desperately. "Get off me, COB!"

"Not yet, sir. Just a moment more," the chief panted, tightening his grip, and then the admiral bore down on them, eyes flashing… Oh, God, Lee must have been hit…


	17. Chapter 17

Once again time slowed dramatically. Lee brushed Nelson's hand off, but Kowalski was already on the move, flattening his captain beneath him as the gun went off.

The worst kind of déjà vu struck Nelson, freezing him in place, as Chip stepped once more into the path of the bullet. "No…" He had said that before… Before he'd come back in time to fix this mistake. It hadn't made a difference then, and he knew it wouldn't make a difference now…

But this time, Sharkey leaped, quickly as a cat though much less gracefully, carrying the XO to the deck and pinning him there. The bullet passed harmlessly above them, whining past Nelson's ear before it struck one of the windows in the nose. The admiral didn't worry about that; herculite had proven itself bulletproof. Instead he breathlessly took stock of his surroundings. Kowalski had scrambled away from Lee and now helped Patterson secure Nash. Sharkey was, by nature, infinitely more cautious, still pinning his superior down, despite Chip's angry bellow.

Nelson was the first to recover, now that the danger was over; now that the result was satisfactory. Odd that now it was all over, anger leaped up inside, a catalyst for his movement. A by-product of anxiety, of course, but he could no more have forced it down than he could have touched the moon. Now that all the principals had survived, he had the time and inclination to allow his anger free rein over such wanton self-sacrifice. He strode unerringly to where his first officer still lay on the deck, pinned under the overly cautious COB, arriving just in time to hear the chief say in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing, "Not yet, sir. Just a moment more." Probably waiting for Nash to be dragged away from the scene.

But Nelson didn't wait; as he looked down at them, his fists clenched, he could feel the warmth of a flush suffusing his face. His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed together in a firm, angry line.

For once, Chip – who was a master at reading any given situation – put a foot wrong. Looking up into Nelson's red face and angry eyes, the XO tensed and asked anxiously, "Lee…?"

Nelson exploded. The pressure inside had built up too much; his only option was to blow. "What the hell were you thinking?" He glared down into blue eyes that dilated under the onslaught, not unlike the eyes of a wild animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear I will bust you all the way back to plebe!" He shoved Sharkey away as the COB bounced up in wordless protest. "I have never in my life seen such a display of raw stupidity…"

"Admiral!"

Lee's voice, carrying the hint of a rebuke. Lee's voice… after zero hour. After Nash's shot, after the whole damned thing was over. He realized suddenly that he was the focus of every eye in the control room. Silence was the result of his outburst, and looking down into Chip's alabaster face and shell-shocked eyes, he found that for once he could read the man perfectly.

Those eyes turned aside just a split second too late. Nelson had already seen the hurt and the uncertainty that lingered deep in their depths, and all the words that still lurked in his throat died unsaid. Instead, he turned away, lifted a trembling hand to his pounding head, and looked blankly at all the men staring at him.

Too much… It was too much. He shut them all out and walked away.


	18. Chapter 18

Pem knew when the timeline changed; a most unpleasant twisting of his gut that made him desperately nauseous heralded it. What had happened? Oh, God, had Nelson meddled? Pem had done his best to convince that dratted admiral to leave well enough alone the second time… What the hell was it with admirals, that they couldn't keep their fingers out of every pie? And just when everything was going smoothly, just when he had integrated himself into the new hierarchy, had managed to fly under the radar, had even ingratiated himself with this new Admiral Harriman Crane, who hadn't even existed before…

He sagged against the wall, struggling with the nausea, noticing several others who were in the same situation. It would be worse for them, he supposed. Pem had wrought the change, so his memories were intact. But their memories would be clawing through their brains, fighting for some semblance of order, gnawing away until they finally realigned. He'd felt it all before… And sure enough, here it came again. He grasped his head and slid down the wall, feeling his thoughts reforming… Admiral Harriman Crane didn't fade into the aether… Something that someone had done had allowed that change to continue… But his memories of Admiral John Nelson Morton were reconstituting… There was the embarrassing time slip Pem had caused that had first alerted that blasted man to his existence, and here… Here was the first time he'd been up before the Time Board on charges… Morton had thrown the book at him, then… Damn it, it was all coming back, all of it, popping back into existence… Nelson _**had**_ meddled somehow, and it wasn't right… Everything had been perfect…

But now, as his memories settled down again, his worst nightmare swept around the corner and headed straight for him. A compact bundle of energy with frosty blue-gray eyes and a glare that could freeze blood; Admiral John Nelson Morton, the youngest four-star admiral in the whole history of the US Navy, and the only President the Time Board had ever had. He didn't wait for Pem to say anything, but then, he rarely did. He just got right down to business. "Mr. Pem, I can't even begin to enumerate the charges against you this time."

Oh, that was a lie… Morton carried everything in his head. He would be able to lay the charges flat out, and undoubtedly had the evidence to back them up, too. Damn, it had to have been Admiral Nelson who had meddled! But why?

"But I suppose the most serious ones are murder and eradication." The man's face was completely impassive, but that glare turned Pem green. This man was a cold fish, but Pem was sure that he was taking very great pleasure in the charges, somewhere behind that mask. Because both charges were deadly serious, and Pem was well aware that he was guilty of both. The only thing that might save him was that he had only been indirectly involved; the plan was his, but he hadn't actually carried it out.

He offered a weak smile. "I'm sure you must be mistaken, sir…"

The glare intensified, choking off anything else Pem could think of to say, but the voice held not one hint of anger. That was the worst thing about Admiral Morton; he was completely unreadable. "I'm not mistaken, Mr. Pem. You are ordered to appear before the Time Board at twenty hundred hours this evening. You needn't worry about getting an impartial hearing. I'm recusing myself." He smiled the smile an adder might give its terrified prey. "After all, it was my ancestor you murdered, in order to eradicate me."

Pem felt the nausea stir in his stomach again, but this time it had nothing to do with timeline changes. He was busted, and somehow he didn't think he could wriggle out of this. "Sir, I have the utmost respect for you…"

Morton wasn't buying it; they'd butted heads too many times. The admiral held out one slim elegant hand. "I'm well aware of exactly how much you respect me, Mr. Pem. I've been authorized by Admiral Crane to confiscate your time travel device. Admiral Crane will be presiding over your hearing this evening."

Pem moaned, as his new memories of Admiral Crane came into play. He wasn't nearly as bad as Morton, but he was characterized by the same attention to detail. Once Morton had been eradicated, however briefly, Crane had popped into existence and become President of the Time Board. His personality was more open, his disposition sunnier. Pem had ingratiated himself, laid low, and stayed under the radar. It had been working well for him…

But now that Morton existed again… Now, it turned out that he and Crane were the best of friends. They'd been at the Academy together and served together in the Fleet. Morton had made Admiral first, but Crane hadn't been far behind. They'd even married sisters… If Crane were presiding, he would nail Pem to the wall. The least he could hope for was twenty years in the Lunar Penal Colony, where time travel was absolutely prohibited, and all time devices rendered inactive. But if Morton was authorized to confiscate his timepiece, that probably meant they were looking at prison time _**and **_the revocation of his time travel privileges… And it simply wasn't fair! "Sir, I swear I wouldn't do anything to cause you to be eradicated…"

Fair brows lifted in skeptical amusement. "Of course not, Mr. Pem. Your device, please."

It was an order, no doubt of that; gods how he hated Morton. Pem dug his pocket watch out and looked at it forlornly. He'd built it himself, hoping he could escape the notice of the Time Board, but the first time he'd used it, they'd descended on him and forced him into compliance with their rules and regulations. He'd been fighting them ever since… Mournfully, he lowered the pocket watch into Morton's palm. This was all Nelson's fault…

Nelson's fault… But Pem had built one timepiece, and he could build another. Maybe this time he could figure out how to shield it temporally, so that the Time Board wouldn't know what he was doing… And then, everyone who had stood in his way, or meddled with his plans would pay.

Morton's hand closed around the pocket watch. "Twenty hundred hours, Mr. Pem." He walked away.

Someday, Pem really was going to eradicate the bastard… One way or another…


	19. Chapter 19

Admiral Nelson stood outside the cabin door, listening to the voices within, and wondering what he was going to say. There was no doubt in his mind that an apology was required. His outburst in the control room had been unforgivable. Understandable perhaps, along the lines of a parent's anger after the anxiety of searching for and finding a lost child. But no less unforgivable… No one in that control room was an errant child in need of a scolding. And no one else in that control room had any memory at all of events beyond the events that had just happened. They didn't remember the horror of their captain lying cold and dead in his cabin with an honor guard posted outside. Nor did their minds hold any memory of that heart-stopping moment when a bullet had dropped their XO to the deck, dead before he fell.

Those events only lived in Nelson's memory; the sorrow for the first, and the guilt and disbelief for the second were his alone…

God, how he hated apologies. Admitting he was wrong went against the grain. But in this case, he had been monumentally wrong. He had told himself that he could live with the death of anyone else on board this boat… Anyone, so long as it wasn't Lee. Only to find that he had lied to himself. That he hadn't after all forgotten what it was like to watch someone he cared for die. He hadn't forgotten the pain and the loss and the utter waste of a life. It had been like watching John take that bullet all over again… A bullet meant for him.

_And you know that I never had a second thought about it, Harry. I'd do it again in a heartbeat…_

John's thought… But Nelson suspected that it would be Chip's thought as well…

He had believed that one of those young men had eclipsed the other, that if he had to choose, he could make that choice with no regrets… But in the end, he had chosen both, because there was simply no other option. Whatever Pem's unholy plans had been, he had damned them with his choice, and he hoped he would never see the man again.

Nelson squared his shoulders. He had let things get badly out of hand. There might not be a road back, but he knew he had to try. Even if it meant admitting he was wrong. Reaching out, he turned the knob, frowning when he found the cabin door unlocked. But this wasn't the time to address a breach of policy. He pushed the door open and went in.

Both his young officers leaped to their feet, standing at attention. Admiral Nelson reflected that he should have known Lee Crane would be here. Attempting damage control, no doubt.

_You should be glad someone's willing to, considering how badly you've messed up._

Oh, how he wished that John's voice in his head would shut up, sometimes. He stepped to one side of the door and gestured to Lee. "Clear out, Lee."

The captain hesitated, his eyes darting from Nelson to Chip anxiously. A protest would be forthcoming. "Sir…"

"Clear out, son." Nelson cut across the words; later he would explain to Lee what it was he needed to do here. Later, he would also caution Lee that he needed to be more careful, that it was necessary to constantly keep in mind the fact that he was working with someone who would willingly step into the path of a bullet for him. Because if Nelson had understood that one inescapable fact of John's character, he might have done things differently, and John might still have been captain of the Seaview. Nelson would never get another chance to save his friend. But Lee should know that every time he put himself in danger, he was dragging another in as well. He should have the chance to weigh that fact against the importance of the mission. Nelson nodded at him, a promise that they would talk later. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

With no real choice, Lee left the cabin, but he was clearly unhappy about it. Nelson closed the door behind him, and inspected the remaining officer carefully.

Chip was back in form, thoughts and feelings locked down behind the impassive mask, eyes perhaps a bit apprehensive, but cool and direct. Not nearly so easy to read now, as he had been an hour ago in the control room. He might not realize that it was already too late, that the admiral had a clear idea of what was going on behind that impressive poker face. Nelson moved to stand in front of him, noting the slight flinch that greeted his proximity. "Sit down, Chip."

"Thank you, sir. I'd rather stand." The voice was as carefully expressionless as the face. From the way he was standing – straight and stiff – Chip was clearly expecting to be called on the carpet. After the scene in the control room earlier, Nelson really couldn't fault the assumption. It was easy sometimes for him to forget just how young the man was.

"Sit down, lad." Nelson suited his own actions to his words, settling comfortably in the chair Lee had vacated. After a few seconds, Chip sat down as well; his mask had slipped a little, revealing his confusion.

Now came the hard part. Nelson took a deep breath, still not knowing exactly what he was going to say. "I know I'm not the easiest man to work with…"

Chip shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the admiral cut him off. "You never complain, but we both know I have been guilty of taking you for granted." This was more difficult than he had thought it would be. Apologies were not his strong suit. He despised them. "But you should know that you are a valuable member of this team…" Hell. This wasn't coming out right at all. Nelson rose from his chair in agitation. Perhaps it was best to just come out and say it. "I will not always remember that. In fact, I will go right back to taking you for granted, probably very quickly indeed. So here is what you have to remember." He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. "I had to go back twice to get this right. The first time was to save Lee, as you very well know. But the second time…" He took a deep breath and targeted those intense blue eyes. "The second time was for you."

The words fell between them into silence. For a moment, Nelson thought Chip wouldn't react at all, that he was frozen, whether in shock or disapproval, Nelson didn't know. But then, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, clearly hiding what he felt. When the silence began to be uncomfortable, he struggled to speak. "Sir, I…" Words failed him, but he kept trying, exhibiting an uncertainty that Nelson had never seen before. "I have never doubted for a moment that I am an important member of this team…"

That was a lie; the admiral knew there had been doubts. Considering their rocky relationship in recent years, there had to have been. He forestalled whatever painful attempt at explanation might be coming next. "Let's agree that you are at least as important as Lee Crane…" It was close to the truth anyway… Lee was the son he had craved since his academy days… He had relinquished Chip to John's need, but he understood now that he had never really lost the affection and respect for the younger man that had led him to follow Chip's career and select him for Seaview. "And that you won't be stepping in front of any more bullets." That was non-negotiable. And undoubtedly that was the one part of this conversation that would be continually and blatantly ignored.

And indeed, despite Nelson's seriousness, the statement awoke the ghost of a smile. "I'm afraid I can't promise that, sir."  
John all over again. John who had always taken matters into his own very capable hands, and pulled out a win when defeat seemed inevitable… John who had just as deliberately chosen to sacrifice his own life for Nelson's. The admiral had never imagined that in the short year they'd worked together, John's influence on his XO would be so enormous. "Then I guess you'll have to get used to Chief Sharkey following you around like a watchdog." Nelson spoke with a mock sternness that finally elicited the full-fledged smile that so charmed the ladies. It had been a long time since he'd last seen that smile, and a long time since he'd felt this kind of relaxed camaraderie between them. He hoped it would become a permanent fixture. "Good night, lad." He headed for the door, but as he touched the doorknob, he remembered something else and turned back. "I believe this door is supposed to be locked?"

Chip flashed him a mischievous look out of laughing eyes. "If Sharkey is going to make a habit of standing outside all night, I hardly think it matters."

"Oh, it matters." Nelson opened the door; naturally Sharkey wasn't standing outside anymore. The COB thought the danger was past, and it undoubtedly was. But there would be other dangers. This, too, was non-negotiable. "Considering the crazy things that happen on this boat, it definitely matters." He stepped into the hall. "So lock the door." He pulled it to, and waited in the hallway until he finally heard the lock click into place. Then he made his way to his own cabin, satisfied.

But as soon as he entered his cabin, he knew something was wrong… A soft curse told him someone else was in the room with him; someone who had faded into a dark corner, but couldn't hide the pale blond hair that stood out even in the shadows. Nelson eased over to the safe by the door, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get it open before the other man made a move. Instead, he bluffed his way through. "Who the hell are you?"

Another soft curse, then the intruder eased out of the shadows.

For a moment, Nelson thought that Chip had somehow beaten him back to his quarters… Only for a moment. Then he realized that this man was older by at least a decade, in his early to mid forties, and his blue eyes were closer to gray, much stormier, though at the moment, they merely held exasperation. Most intriguing, he wore four stars on his collar. "In and out… I've done this a million times. See what happens when you get promoted?" He perched on the admiral's desk as if it were his own. "You lose all your field skills. I'll never live this down."

"You haven't answered my question." Nelson felt absolutely no sense of threat from this stranger… Just an odd sense of déjà vu, as if he knew the man, though manifestly he didn't.

The man contemplated him for a long minute, as if speculating what he could say. But no answer was forthcoming. "I can't really tell you, Admiral."

Nelson looked the man over; too young to really have those four stars he wore, yet he certainly had the air of a four-star admiral. "You do know that impersonating an officer is a serious offense."

The stranger crossed his arms and glared at Nelson with an icy stare that seemed vaguely familiar. "You do know that I get that a lot. I assure you, I am not impersonating myself, admiral."

"You're too young to be a full admiral in just about any man's Navy." Nelson pressed his point, moving closer to the desk, impressed with the way the younger man matched him glare for glare. He certainly had the mannerisms of a four-star admiral…

"Really? And how old was the youngest man ever to make admiral, sir?"

Admiral Elmo Zumwalt… Nelson had known the man well. He had made admiral at forty-nine years of age. But surely this stranger knew the answer to that question. The admiral's eyes narrowed. "Admiral Zumwalt. Forty-nine years old."

The intruder rose from his perch on the edge of Nelson's desk. "By my time, that record has been broken. Twice." He flashed a smile that made Nelson gasp and fall back a step. He knew that smile… He had just seen it on Chip Morton a few minutes before. "I'm the current holder of the title."

"By your time?" Was this stranger from the future? Was he the reason for Mr. Pem's elaborate plot? Was Lee ever the real target at all? "You're from Pem's time."

The younger man sighed. "Well, I've done a poor job of hiding my origins." He laughed and held out a slim, elegant hand. "I doubt I could hide much from you, anyway, sir. I came to retrieve a timepiece that Pem gave you."

Nelson frowned at that. "You came to remove all evidence that this entire mess ever happened."

"You weren't supposed to know about time travel, admiral. There are rules, and Pem has broken them once too often." A snap of the fingers betrayed the intruder's growing impatience. "The timepiece. Please."

But Nelson simply moved past him and sat in the chair behind his desk. He was both older and wiser than this youngster, admiral or not. There was a reason why younger heads generally didn't make the grade. "I have to assume that you'd be willing to give me some answers in return for that timepiece."

The other man turned and looked at him, eyes narrowed, a storm whipping up in them. "Sorry, no. I can always come back, later."

"But there's no guarantee the watch will be here."

A misstep there, judging from the way the intruder lowered his head to hide his smile. "We can track time travel devices. How do you think we knew it was here in the first place?"

Nelson dropped all pretense of cooperation and flung out the question he really wanted answered. "Why? Why did Pem come here, why now? And why my boat and my men?" He looked the other man up and down with a sneer. "Or do I already know the answer?"

The other man moved up and sank into the chair that Lee generally sat in. He studied Nelson, but the steady drum of his fingers against the arm of the chair betrayed his frustration. Chip did that, too, just a little tell that let the men know he wasn't happy. Odd, how much like Chip this man was. Or maybe not so odd. "I can't tell you the answer. I did say there were rules. I can't tell you who I am, or what Pem wanted, because that knowledge might change how you view the future… which in turn might actually change the future."

"And catching you here where you're not supposed to be won't?"

The man splayed his fingers in helpless disgust. "Like I said, I've done this a million times. Just had to be the million and first time that got me into trouble."

Nelson opened the drawer where the pocket watch lay. He already knew he was going to give it to this man; best to get rid of the evidence after all, and Pem had already been caught. But he couldn't resist showing off his deductive skills. "Pem wanted to get rid of you. That's why the elaborate plan. To remove you from history, but if he went right to his target, he might be stopped before the plan worked. So he went at it indirectly." He pulled the pocket watch out, showing it to the man whose name he was pretty sure he knew. The slim hand reached out again, palm up. But Nelson ignored it as he continued. "He had my captain killed, because he knew I'd go back in time to save Lee. And he knew exactly how my XO would react the second time around."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither one backing down. For all his youth, this man made a formidable admiral. Nelson reached out and dropped the pocket watch onto the outstretched palm. "You don't have to tell me anything. Admiral Morton." A risk, but he knew he was right.

Long elegant fingers closed over the watch. Blue-gray eyes rose to Nelson's face. The intruder made a concession to necessity. "I can't tell you whether you're right or wrong. But I'm grateful that you chose to save my ancestor's life." He smiled again, that smile so uncannily like Chip's, clearly knowing that he'd told Nelson everything he needed to know. "The stories about you don't do you justice, sir." He rose from his chair, slipping the watch into his pocket. "I hope you'll remember that I was never here…"

Nelson shook his head, and looked down to get a cigarette. When he looked up, the room was empty.

He would have liked to have been able to tell Chip that his descendant would be the youngest admiral in the history of the US Navy… But he knew that he would honor Admiral Morton's request and say nothing. There was no reason to, after all. Pem would face justice, and the watch had been reclaimed, removing temptation from the admiral's grasp. All was right with the world now.

He couldn't help wondering how long it would last…


End file.
